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WIT AND WISDOM OF 
EPICTETUS 



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Copyright, /go4 
By Nathan Haskell Dole 



INTRODUCTION 

St. Augustine called Epictetus the 
most noble of Stoics, and if we may 
judge of him by the utterances recorded 
by his disciple, Flavius Arrian, who took 
them down from his lips at Nicopolis, 
we cannot help agreeing with this en- 
comium. Arrian declares that they 
were not put into literary form, were 
merely u such things as one man might 
say to another on occasion,'* but that 
they represent the highest thought of 
the Master who, when he spoke, had but 
one aim — " to stir his hearers' minds 
toward the best things." 

Almost nothing is known of Epictetus' 
life. He was born in Hieropolis, near 
the Phrygian Meander. He became the 
slave of Epaphroditus, whose character 
may be surmised when it is stated that 
he was the favourite of the Emperor Nero. 
There is a legend to the effect that 
Epaphroditus, who had himself been a 
slave, was twisting Epictetus' leg for 



amusement. Epictetus remarked, " If 
you persist, you will break my leg." 
Epaphroditus went on and broke the leg. 
Epictetus* only comment was : " Did I 
not warn you that you would break my 
leg?" 

However cruelly the master may have 
treated the slave, he sent him to at- 
tend the lectures on philosophy by Mu- 
sonius Rufus, the son of a Roman knight, 
and a very celebrated Stoic, whose works 
have unfortunately all perished. Just 
as Russian noblemen used to have 
poets and musicians among their serfs, 
so the Romans were proud to attach 
philosophers and scholars to their reti- 
nues. Often, undoubtedly, the prisoner 
of war, sold as a slave, may have been 
a man of more consequence than his 
fortuitous owner. Nero, whose cruelties 
and excesses were beginning to stir the 
Romans to revolt, committed suicide 
with the aid of Epaphroditus in 67 
a. d. Epaphroditus himself was put to 
death by Domitian, and when that cruel 
emperor expelled all the philosophers 
from Rome with the exception of Muso- 



nius Rufus, Epictetus went to Nicopolis, 
the city of Augustus, at the southwestern 
extremity of Epirus. Here he lived to 
a venerable old age in spite of his feeble 
health and his lameness. He is said 
to have been true to his own teachings, to 
have lived with the utmost simplicity, 
with no servant or other inmate of his 
house. A story illustrating his kindness 
of heart relates how he rescued an infant 
that had been exposed to death by some 
parent who had wished to check the 
growth of his family. Epictetus took 
the child and hired a nurse to care for it 
and brought it up. 

The philosophy of Stoicism, as ex- 
pounded in the fragmentary sentences of 
Epictetus, is unquestionably conducive 
to a happy life, a life of serenity. It is 
not strange that Epictetus should have 
been adopted by the Christian Church : 
the Encheiridion or Handbook has the 
distinction of being the only pagan book 
recommended to the religious. It de- 
serves it. For it certainly helps men to 
be manly, to endure afflictions without 
repining, to take life as it comes, to be 

iii 



simple and duly humble, to be sympa- 
thetic and unselfish. Its teachings are 
inspiring. Such a book as this, coming 
down to us through nineteen centuries, 
is indeed a breviary treasure to be com- 
mended for reading and meditation. 

N. H. D. 



IV 




THE TEACHING OF 
EPICTETUS 

BOOK I. 
I. 



THE BEGINNING OF PHILOSOPHY 

If you would be good, then first be- 
lieve that you are evil. 

The beginning of philosophy, at least 
with those who lay hold of it as they 
ought and enter by the door, is the con- 
sciousness of their own feebleness and 
incapacity in respect of necessary things. 

For we come into the world having by 
nature no idea of a right-angled triangle 
or of a quarter-tone, or of a semi-tone, 




but by a certain tradition of art we learn 
each of these things. And thus those 
who know them not, do not suppose 
that they know them. But good and 
evil, and nobleness and baseness, and 
the seemly and the unseemly, and happi- 
ness and misfortune, and what is our 
concern and what is not, and what ought 
to be done and what not — who has 
come into the world without an im- 
planted notion of these things ? Thus 
we all use these terms, and endeavour 
to fit our natural conceptions to every 
several thing. 

Behold, the beginning of philosophy 
is the observation of how men contradict 
one another, and the search whence 
comes this contradiction, and the censure 
and mistrust of bare opinion. And it is 
an inquiry into that which seems, whether 
it rightly seems ; and the discovery of a 
certain rule, even as we have found a 
balance for weights and a plumb line 



£» 




for straight and crooked. This is the 
beginning of philosophy. Are all things 
right to all to whom they seem so ? But 
how can contradictory things be right ? 

No, not all things, but those that 
seem to us right. 

And why to you more than to the 
Syrians, or to the Egyptians ? Why 
more than to me or to any other man ? 

Not at all more. 

Seeming then does not for every man 
answer to Being ; for neither in weights 
or measures does the bare appearance 
satisfy us, but for each case we have 
discovered some rule. 

And here then is there no rule above 
seeming ? 

And how could it be that there were 
no evidence or discovery of things the 
most necessary for men ? So there is a 
rule. And why do we not seek it and 
find it and, having found it, henceforth 
use it without transgression and not so 




much as stretch forth a finger without 
it ? For this it is, I think, that when 
it is discovered cures of their madness 
those that mismeasure all things by seem- 
ing alone ; so that henceforth, setting 
out from things known and investigated, 
we may use an organised body of natural 
conceptions in all our several dealings. 

What is the subject about which we 
are inquiring ? 

Pleasure ? 

Submit it to the rule, cast it into the 
scales. Now the Good must be a thing 
of such sort that we ought to trust in it ? 

Truly. 

And we ought to have faith in it ? 

We ought. 

And ought we to trust in anything 
which is unstable ? 

No. 

And has pleasure any stability ? 

It has not. 



Take it then and fling it out of the 
scales and set it far away from the place 
of the Good. 

But if you are dim of sight and one 
balance does not suffice, then take an- 
other. 

Is it right to be elated in what is good ? 

Yes. 

And is it right to be elated in the 
presence of a pleasure ? See to it that 
thou say not it is right ; or I shall not 
hold thee worthy even of the balance. 
Thus are things judged and weighed 
when the rules are held in readiness. 
And the aim of philosophy is this : to 
examine and establish the rules. And 
to use them when they are known is the 
task of an wise and good man. 



ON THE NATURAL CONCEPTION 

The natural conceptions are common 
to all men, and one can not contradict 
another. For who of us but affirms 
that the Good is profitable, and that we 
should choose it and in all circumstances 
follow and pursue it ? Who of us but 
affirms that uprightness is honourable 
and becoming ? 

Where then does the contradiction 
arise ? 

Concerning the application of the 
natural conceptions to things severally. 
When one says, " He did well, he is a 
worthy man," and another, u Nay, but 
he did foolishly," then there is a con- 
tradiction among men, one with another. 
And there is the same contradiction 
among the Jews and the Syrians and 



10 



the Egyptians and the Romans; not 
whether that which is righteous should 
be preferred to all things and in all cases 
pursued, but whether it be righteous or 
unrighteous to eat the flesh of swine. 

What is it then to be educated ? 

It is to learn to apply the natural con- 
ceptions to each thing severally according 
to nature; and further, to discern that 
of things that exist some are in our own 
power and the rest are not in our 
own power. And things that are in our 
own power are the will and all the works 
of the will. And things that are not in our 
own power are the body and the parts 
of the body, and possessions and parents 
and brethren and children and country 
and, in a word, our associates. Where 
now shall we place the Good ? To 
what objects shall we apply it ? 

To those which are in our own 
power ? 

' ■ ' ."»" ■ , * , ' j'." ' " " ' * ' 



II 



k: 



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Then is not health good, and whole 
limbs and life ? and are not children and 
parents and country ? And who will 
bear with you if you say this ? Let us 
then transfer it to these things. Now, 
can one be happy who is injured, and 
has missed gaining what is good ? 

He can not. 

And can such a one bear himself 
toward his fellows as he ought ? 

How could he ? For I have it from 
nature that I must seek my own profit. 
If it profits me to own a piece of land, 
it profits me to take it from my neigh- 
bour. If it profits me to have a garment, 
it profits me to steal it from the bath. 
And hence wars, seditions, tyrannies, 
conspiracies. And how shall I be able 
to maintain a right mind toward God ? 
for if I suffer injury and misfortune, it 
can not be but he neglects me. And 
what have I to do with him if he can not 
help me ? And, again, what have I to 



12 




do with him if he is willing to let me 
continue in the evils in which I am ? 
Henceforth I begin to hate him. Why 
then do we build temples and set up 
statues to Zeus as we do to powers of 
evil, such as Fever ? And how is he 
now the Saviour and the Raingiver and the 
Fruitgiver ? And verily, all this follows, 
if we place anywhere in external things 
the nature and being of the Good. 




13 




THE MASTER - FACULTY 

Of all our faculties you shall find but 
one that can contemplate itself, or, 
therefore, approve or disapprove itself. 
How far has grammar the power of 
contemplation ? 

Only so far as to judge concerning 
letters. 

And music ? 

Only so far as to judge concerning 
melodies. 

Does any of them then contemplate 
itself ? 

Not one. 

But when you have need to write to 
your friend, grammar will tell you how 
to write ; but whether to write or not, 
grammar will not tell. And so with the 



14 




musical art in the case of melodies ; but 
whether it is now meet or not to sing or 
to play, music will not tell. 

What, then, will tell it ? 

That faculty which both contemplates 
itself and all other things. 

And what is this ? 

It is the faculty of Reason; for we 
have received none other which can 
consider itself — what it is, and what it 
can, and what it is worth — and all the 
other faculties as well. For what else 
is it that tells us that a golden thing is 
beautiful, since itself does not ? Clearly 
it is the faculty that makes use of ap- 
pearances. What else is it that judges 
of music and grammar, and the other 
faculties and proves their uses and shows 
the fit occasions ? 

None else than this. 

Thus the Gods, as it was fit they 
should, place in our power only that 




15 




which is the mightiest and master thing, 
the right use of appearances ; but other 
things are not in our power. 

Was it that they did not wish it ? 

Indeed I think that had they been 
able they had made over to us those 
things also ; but this they could in no 
way do. For being on the earth and 
bound up with this flesh and with these 
associates, how could we fail as regards 
these to be hindered by external things ? 

But what saith Zeus ? 

" Epictetus, if it were possible, I 
would have made both this thy little 
body and thy little property free and 
unhampered. But now forget not that 
this is but finely tempered clay, and 
nothing of thine own. And since I 
could not do this, I have given thee a 
part of ourselves, this power of desiring 
and disliking and pursuing, avoiding and 
rejecting, and, in brief, the use of appear- 
ances. Have a care then of this, hold 




16 




17 




&$ 



IV. 

THE NATURE OF THE GOOD 

The subject for the good and wise 
man is his own master-faculty, as the 
body is for the physician and the trainer, 
and the soil is the subject for the hus- 
bandman. And the work of the good 
and wise man is to use appearances 
according to Nature. For it is the 
nature of every soul to consent to what 
is good and to reject what is evil, and to 
hold back about what is uncertain ; and 
thus to be moved to pursue the good and 
to avoid the evil, and neither way toward 
what is neither good nor evil. For as 
it is not lawful for the money-changer 
or the seller of herbs to reject Caesar's 
coin, but if one present it, then, whether 
he will or no, he must give up what is 




18 



sold for it, so it is also with the soul. 
When the Good appears, straightway 
the soul is moved toward it and from 
the Evil. And never does the soul re- 
ject any clear appearance of the good, 
any more than Caesar's coin. On this 
hangs every movement both of God and 
man. 

The nature and essence of the Good 
is in a certain disposition of the Will ; 
likewise that of the Evil. 

What then are outward things ? 

Matter for the Will, about which 
being occupied it shall attain its own 
good or evil. How shall it attain the 
Good ? Through not being dazzled 
with admiration of what it works on. 
For our opinions of this, when right, 
make the will right, and when wrong 
make it evil. This law has God estab- 
lished, and says, " If thou wouldst have 
aught of good, have it from thyself." 




19 



If these things are true (and if we are 
not fools or hypocrites), that Good, for 
man, lies in the Will, and likewise Evil, 
and all other things are nothing to us, 
why are we still troubled? why do we 
fear ? The things for which we have 
been zealous are in no other man's 
power; and for the things that are in 
others' power we are not concerned. 
And why shall I direct thee ? has not 
God directed thee ? has he not given 
thee that which is thine own unhindered 
and unhampered, and hindered and 
hampered that which is not thine own ? 
And what direction, what word of com- 
mand didst thou receive from him when 
thou earnest thence ? 

" Hold fast everything which is thine 
own — covet not that which is alien to 
thee. And faithfulness is thine, and 
reverence is thine : who, then, can rob 
thee of these things ? who can hinder 
thee from using them, if not thyself? 



20 







But thyself can do it, and how ? When 
thou art zealous about things not thine 
own, and hast cast away the things that 
are." 











21 




THE PROMISE OF PHILOSOPHY 



Of things that exist, some are in our 
own power, some are not in our own 
power. Of things that are in our own 
power are our opinions, impulses, pur- 
suits, avoidances, and, in brief, all that 
is of our own doing. Of things that are 
not in our own power are the body, 
possessions, reputation, authority, and, 
in brief, all that is not of our own doing. 
And the things that are in our own 
power are in their nature free, not liable 
to hindrance or embarrassment, while 
the things that are not in our own 
power are strengthless, servile, subject, 
alien. 

Remember, then, if you hold things 
by their nature subject to be free, and 




things alien to be your proper concern, 
you will be hampered, you will lament, 
you will be troubled, you will blame 
Gods and men. But if you hold that 
only to be your own which is so, and 
the alien for what it is, alien, then none 
shall ever compel you, none shall hinder 
you, you will blame no one, accuse no 
one, you will not do the least thing un- 
willingly, none shall harm you, you shall 
have no foe, for you shall suffer no 
injury. 

Aiming, then, at things so high, re- 
member that it is no moderate passion 
wherewith you must attempt them, but 
some things you must utterly renounce, 
and put some, for the present, aside. 
For if, let us say, you aim also at this, 
to rule and to gather riches, then you are 
like, through aiming at the chief things 
also, to miss these lower ends ; and shall 
most assuredly miss those others, through 
which alone freedom and happiness are 



) 




won. Straightway, then, practise saying 
to every harsh appearance — Thou art 
an Appearance and not at all the thing 
thou appearest to be. Then examine it, 
and prove it by the rules you have, but 
first and above all by this, whether it 
concern something that is in our own 
power, or something that is not in our 
own power. And if the latter, then be 
the thought at hand : It is nothing to Me. 




24 



VI. 



THE WAY OF PHILOSOPHY 

Every art is wearisome, in the learning 
of it, to the untaught and unskilled. 
Yet things that are made by the arts 
immediately declare their use, and for 
what they were made, and in most of 
them is something attractive and pleas- 
ing. 

Thus when a shoemaker is learning 
his trade it is no pleasure to stand by 
and observe him, but the shoe is useful, 
and moreover not unpleasing to behold. 
The learning of a carpenter's trade is 
very grievous to an untaught person 
who happens to be present, but the work 
done declares the need of the art. 

But far more is this seen in music, for 
if you are by where one is learning, it 



25 




will appear the most painful of all in- 
structions ; but that which is produced 
by the musical art is sweet and delightful 
to hear, even to those who are untaught 
in it. And here we conceive the work 
of one who studies philosophy to be 
some such thing, that he must fit his 
desire to all events, so that nothing may 
come to pass against our will, nor may 
aught fail to come to pass that we wish 
for. Whence it results to those who so 
order it, that they never fail to obtain 
what they would, or to avoid what they 
would not, living, as regards themselves, 
without pain, fear, or trouble; and as 
regards their fellows, observing all the 
relations, natural and acquired ; as son 
or father, or brother or citizen, or 
husband or wife, or neighbour or fellow- 
traveller, or prince or subject. Such we 
conceive to be the work of one who 
pursues philosophy. And next we must 
inquire how this may come about. 



&£ 




26 



We see, then, that the carpenter 
becomes a carpenter by learning some- 
thing, and by learning something the 
pilot becomes a pilot. And here also is 
it not on this wise ? Is it enough that 
we merely wish to become good and 
wise, or must we not also learn some- 
thing ? We inquire, then, what we have 
to learn. 

The philosophers say that, before all 
things, it is needful to learn that God is, 
and takes thought for all things ; and 
that nothing can be hid from him, neither 
deeds, nor even thoughts or wishes ; 
thereafter, of what nature the Gods are. 
For whatever they are found to be, he 
who would please and serve them must 
strive, with all his might, to be like them. 
If the Divine is faithful, so must he be 
faithful ; if free, so must he be free ; if 
beneficent, so must he be beneficent ; if 
high-minded, so must he be high-minded ; 
so that thus emulating God, he shall both 



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27 







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do and speak the things that follow 
therefrom. 

What could you suppose to be lack- 
ing to you ? Wealth you have, and 
children, and it may be a wife and many 
servants ; Caesar knows you, you have 
won many friends in Rome, you give 
every man his due, you reward with 
good him that does good to you, and 
with evil him that does evil. What is 
still lacking to you ? 

If, now, I shall show you that you 
lack the greatest and most necessary 
things for happiness, and that to this day 
you have cared for everything rather 
than for what behoved you ; and if I 
crown all and say that you know not 
what God is nor what man is, nor Good 
nor Evil ; — and what I say of other 
things is perhaps endurable, but if I say 
you know not your own self, how can 
you endure me, and bear the accusation 
and abide here ? 








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28 



Never — but straightway you will go 
away in anger. And yet what evil have 
I done you ? Unless the mirror does evil 
to the ill-favoured man, when it shows 
him to himself such as he is, and unless 
the physician is thought to affront the 
sick man when he may say to him : 
Man, dost thou think thou art not ailing ? 
Thou hast a fever : fast to-day and drink 
water. And none says, What an affront. 
But if one shall say to a man : Thy pur- 
suits are inflamed, thine avoidances are 
mean, thy purposes are lawless, thy im- 
pulses accord not with nature, thine 
opinions are vain and lying — straightway 
he goeth forth and says, He affronted 
me. 

We follow our business as in a great 
fair. Cattle and oxen are brought to be 
sold ; and the greater part of the men 
come some to buy, some to sell ; and few 
are they who come for the spectacle of 
the fair, — how it comes to pass, and 



^ 



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29 



wherefore, and who are they who have 
established it, and to what end. And so 
it is here, too, in this assembly of life. 
Some, indeed, like cattle, concern them- 
selves with nothing but fodder; even 
such as those that care for possessions 
and lands and servants and offices, for 
these are nothing more than fodder. 
But few are they who come to the fair 
for love of the spectacle, what the world 
is and by whom it is governed. By no 
one ? And how is it possible that a 
state or a house cannot endure, no not 
for the shortest time, without a governor 
and overseer, but this so great and fair 
fabric should be guided thus orderly by 
chance and accident ? 

There is, then, one who governs. 
But what is his nature ? and how does he 
govern ? and we, that were made by him, 
what are we, and for what are we? or 
have we at least some intercourse and 
link with him, or have we none ? Thus 




30 




3i 




TO THE LEARNER 



Remember that pursuit declares the 
aim of attaining the thing pursued, and 
avoidance that of not falling into the 
thing shunned ; and he who fails in his 
pursuit is unfortunate, and it is mis- 
fortune to fall into what he would avoid. 
If now you shun only those things in 
your power which are contrary to 
Nature, you shall never fall into what 
you would avoid. But if you shun 
disease or death or poverty, you shall 
have misfortune. 

No great thing comes suddenly into 
being, for not even a bunch of grapes 
can, or a fig. If you say to me now : I 
desire a fig, I answer that there is need of 
time : let it first of all flower and then 




32 



T> 



bring forth the fruit and then ripen. 
When the fruit of a fig-tree is not per- 
fected at once, and in a single hour, 
would you win the fruit of a man's mind 
thus quickly and easily ? Even if I say 
to you, expect it not. 

To fulfil the promise of a man's nature 
is itself no common thing. For what is 
a man ? A living creature, say you ; 
mortal, and endowed with Reason. And 
from what are we set apart by Reason ? 
From the wild beasts. And what others ? 
From sheep and the like. Look to it, 
then, that you do nothing like a wild 
beast, for if you do, the man in you 
perishes, you have not fulfilled his prom- 
ise. Look to it, that you do nothing 
like a sheep, or thus too the man has 
perished. What, then, can we do as 
sheep ? When we are gluttonous, sen- 
sual, reckless, filthy, thoughtless, to what 
are we then sunken ? To sheep. What 
have we lost ? Our faculty of Reason. 




33 




And when we are contentious, and hurt- 
ful, and angry and violent, to what are 
we sunken ? To wild beasts. And 
for the rest some of us are great wild 
beasts, and some of us little and evil 



Each thing is increased and saved by 
the corresponding works — the carpenter 
by the practice of carpentry, the gram- 
marian by the study of grammar ; but if 
he used to write ungrammatically, it must 
needs be that his art shall be corrupted 
and destroyed. Thus, too, the works of 
reverence save the reverent man, and 
those of shamelessness destroy him. And 
works of faithfulness save the faithful 
and the contrary destroy him. 
And men of the contrary character are 
strengthened therein by contrary deeds ; 
the irreverent by irreverence, the faith- 
less by faithlessness, the reviler by revil- 
ing, the angry by anger, the avaricious 
by unfair giving and taking. 



34 



Every great power is perilous to be- 
ginners. You must bear such things 
according to your strength. But I must 
live according to Nature ? That is not 
for a sick man. Lead your life as a 
sick man for a while, so that you may 
hereafter live it as a whole man. Fast, 
drink water, abstain for a while from 
pursuit of every kind, in order that you 
may pursue as Reason bids. And if as 
Reason bids, then when you have aught 
of good in you, your pursuit shall be 
well. Nay, but we would live as sages 
and do good to men. What good ? 
What will you do ? Have you done 
good to yourself ? But you would ex- 
hort them ? And have you exhorted 
yourself ? You would do them good — 
then do not chatter to them, but show 
them in yourself what manner of men 
philosophy can make. In your eating 
do good to those that eat with you, in 
your drinking to those that drink, by 




35 




36 



VIII. 



THE CYNIC 



In no well-ordered house does one 
come in and say to himself: I should 
be the steward of the house, else, when 
the lord of the house shall have observed 
it, and see him insolently giving orders, 
he will drag him forth and chastise him. 

So it is also in this great city of the 
universe, for here too there is a master 
of the house who ordereth each and all : 
" Thou art the Sun j thy power is to 
travel round and to make the year and 
the seasons, and to increase and nourish 
fruits, and to stir the winds and still 
them, and temperately to warm the 
bodies of men. Go forth, run thy 
course, and minister thus to the greatest 
things and to the least. Thou art a calf ; 





37 




when a lion shall appear, do what befits 
thee, or it shall be worse for thee. Thou 
art a bull ; come forth and fight, for 
this is thy part and pride, and this thou 
canst. Thou art able to lead the army 
against Ilion ; be Agamemnon. Thou 
canst fight in single combat with Hector ; 
be Achilles. But if Thersites come forth 
and pretend to the authority, then either 
he would not gain it, or, gaining it, he 
would be shamed before many witnesses." 
And as to being a Cynic, take thought 
upon it earnestly, for it is not such as it 
seems to you. I wear a rough cloak 
now, and I shall wear it then ; I sleep 
hard now, and I shall sleep so then. I 
will take to myself a wallet and staff, 
and I will begin to go about and beg, 
and to reprove everyone I meet with ; 
and if I shall see one that plucks out his 
hairs, I will censure him, or one that 
has his hair curled, or that goes in pur- 
ple raiment. If you conceive the matter 




38 



on this wise, far be it from you — go 
not near it, it is not for you. But if 
you conceive of it as it is, and hold 
yourself not unworthy of it, then behold 
to how great an enterprise you are put- 
ting forth your hand. 

First, in things that concern yourself, 
you must appear in nothing like what 
you now do. You must not accuse God 
or man ; you must utterly give over pur- 
suit, and avoid only those things that are 
in the power of your will ; anger is not 
meet for you, nor resentment, nor envy, 
nor pity ; nor must a girl appear to you 
fair, neither must reputation, nor a flat 
cake. For it must be understood that 
other men shelter themselves by walls 
and houses and by darkness when they 
do such things, and many means of con- 
cealment have they. One shuts the 
door, places someone before the cham- 
ber; if anyone should come, say, He is 
out, he is busy. 



But in place of all these things it be- 
hoves the Cynic to shelter himself behind 
his own piety and reverence ; but if he 
does not, he shall be put to shame, naked 
under the sky. This is his house, this 
his door, this the guards of his chamber, 
this his darkness. For he must not 
seek to hide aught that he does, else he 
is gone, the Cynic has perished, the man 
who lived under the open sky, the free- 
man. He has begun to fear something 
from without, he has begun to need con- 
cealment ; nor can he find it when he 
would, for where shall he hide himself, 
and how ? And if by chance this tutor, 
this public teacher, should be found in 
guilt, what things must he not suffer ! 
And fearing these things, can he yet 
take heart with his whole soul to guide 
the rest of mankind ? That can he 
never : it is impossible ! 

First, then, you must purify your rul- 
ing faculty, and this vocation of yours 



40 



~7 



also, saying : " Now it is my mind I 
must shape, as the capenter shapes wood 
and the shoemaker leather ; and the 
thing to be formed is a right use of ap- 
pearances. But nothing to me is the 
body, and nothing to me the parts of it. 
Death ? Let it come when it will, either 
death of the whole or of a part. Flee 
it ! And whither ? Can any man cast 
me out of the universe ? He cannot ; 
but whithersoever I may go there will 
be the sun, and the moon, and there the 
stars, and visions, and omens, and com- 
munion with the Gods." 

And, furthermore, when he has thus 
fashioned himself, he who is a Cynic 
indeed will not be content with these 
things. But know that he is an herald 
from God to men, declaring to them the 
truth about good and evil things ; that 
they have erred, and are seeking the 
reality of good and evil where it is not ; 
and where it is, they do not consider ; 



$< 





and he is a spy, like Diogenes, when he 
was led captive to Philip after the battle 
of Chaeronea. For the Cynic is, in 
truth, a spy of the things that are friendly 
to men, and that are hostile ; and hay- 
ing closely spied out all, he must come 
back and declare the Truth. And he 
must neither be stricken with terror and 
report of enemies where none are; nor 
be in any otherwise confounded or 
troubled by the appearances. 

He must then be able, if so it chance, 
to go up impassioned, as on the tragic 
stage, and speak that word of Socrates, 
" O men, whither are you borne away ? 
What do you ? Miserable ! like blind 
men you wander up and down. You 
have left the true road, and are going by 
a false ; you are seeking peace and hap- 
piness where they are not, and if another 
shall show you where they are, you be- 
lieve him not. Wherefore will you seek 
it in outward things ? 



>> 



42 



" In the body ? It is not there — and 
if you believe me not, lo, Myro ! lo, 
Ophellius. 

u In possessions ? It is not there, and 
if you believe me not, lo, Croesus ! lo, 
the wealthy of our own day, how full of 
mourning is their life ! 

" In authority ? It is not there, else 
should those be happy who have been 
twice or thrice consul ; yet they are not. 
Whom shall we believe in this matter ? 
You, who look on these men but from 
without, and are dazzled by the appear- 
ance, or the men themselves ? And what 
say they ? Hearken to them when they 
lament, when they groan, when by reason 
of those consulships, and their glory and 
renown, they hold their state the more 
full of misery and danger ! 

" In royalty ? It is not there ; else 
were Nero happy, and Sardanapalus ; 
but not Agamemnon himself was happy, 
more splendid though he was than Nero 



/& 



43 



<>* 



or Sardanapalus ; but while the rest are 
snoring what is he doing ? 

"He tore his rooted hair by handfuls out." 

And what does he himself say ? 

" I am distraught," he says, " and I 
am in anguish ; my heart leaps forth from 
my bosom." Miserable man ! which of 
your concerns has gone wrong ? Your 
wealth ? No. Your body ? No ; but you 
are rich in gold and bronze. What ails 
you then ? 

That part, whatever it be, with which 
we pursue, with which we avoid, with 
which we desire and dislike, you have 
neglected and corrupted. How has it 
been neglected ? He has been ignorant 
of the true Good for which it was born, 
and of the Evil ; and of what is his own, 
and what is alien to him. And when it 
goes ill with something that is alien to 
him, he says, " Woe is me, for the 
Greeks are in peril." 



44 




unhappy mind ! of all things alone 
neglected and untended. They will be 
slain by the Trojans and die ! And if 
the Trojans slay them not, will they not 
still die ? Yea, but not all together. 

What, then, does it matter ? for if it 
be an evil to die, it is alike evil to die 
together or to die one by one. Shall 
anything else happen to them than the 
parting of body and soul ? 

Nothing. 

And when the Greeks have perished, 
is the door closed to you ? can you not 
also die ? 

1 can. 

Wherefore, then, do you lament : Woe 
is me, a king, and bearing the sceptre of 
Zeus ? There is no unfortunate king, 
as there is no unfortunate God. What, 
then, are you ? In very truth a shep- 
herd ; for you lament even as shepherds 
do when a wolf has snatched away 
one of the sheep; and sheep are they 




45 



whom you rule. And why are you come 
hither ? Was your faculty of pursuit in 
any peril, or of avoidance, or your desire 
aversion ? 

Nay, he says, but my brother's wife 
was carried away. Was it not a great 
gain to be rid of an adulterous wife ? 
Shall we be, then, despised of the Tro- 
jans ? Of the Trojans ? Of what 
manner of men ? of wise men or fools ? 
If of wise men, why do you make war 
with them ? if of fools, why do you heed 
them ? 

In what, then, is the good, seeing that 
in these things it is not ? Tell us, thou, 
my lord missionary and spy ! 

It is there where ye deem it not, and 
where ye have no desire to seek it. For 
did you desire, you would have found it 
in yourselves, nor would you wander to 
things without, nor pursue things alien, 
as if they were your own concerns. 
Turn to your own selves ; understand 



4 6 



the natural conceptions which you pos- 
sess. What kind of thing do you take 
the Good to be ? Peace ? happiness ? 
freedom ? Come, then, do you not 
naturally conceive it as great, as precious, 
and as incapable of being harmed ? What 
kind of material, then, will you take to 
shape peace and freedom withal — that 
which is enslaved or in that which is free ? 

That which is free. 

Have you the flesh enslaved or free ? 

We know not. 

Know you not that it is the slave of 
fever, of gout, of ophthalmia, of dysen- 
tery, of tyranny, and fire, and steel, and 
everything that is mightier than itself? 

Yea, it is enslaved. 

How, then, can aught that is of the 
body be free ? and how can that be great 
or precious which by nature is dead, 
mere earth or mud ? 

What then ? have you nothing that is 
free ? 




I 



47 



38MB$«*»8^ 









■#££ 



It may be nothing. 

And who can compel you to assent to 
an appearance that is false ? 

No man. 

And who can compel you not to 
assent to an appearance that is true ? 

No man. 

Here, then, you see that there is in 
you something that is by nature free. 
But which of you, except he lay hold of 
some appearance of the profitable, or of 
the becoming, can either pursue or avoid, 
or desire or dislike, or adopt or intend 
anything ? 

No man. 

In these things too, then, you have 
something that is unhindered and free. 
This, miserable men, must you per- 
fect ; this have a care to, in this seek for 
the Good. 

And how is it possible that one can 
live prosperously who has nothing; a 
naked, homeless, hearthless, beggarly 




4 8 



man, without servants, without a coun- 
try ? 

Lo, God hath sent you a man to show 
you in very deed that it is possible. 

Behold me, that I have neither coun- 
try, nor house, nor possessions, nor serv- 
ants ; I sleep on the ground ; nor is a 
wife mine, nor children, nor domicile, 
but only earth and heaven, and a single 
cloak. And what is lacking to me ? do 
I ever grieve ? do I fear ? am I not free ? 
When did any of you see me fail of my 
pursuit, or meet with what I had avoided ? 
When did I blame God or man ? When 
did I accuse any man ? When did any of 
you see me of a sullen countenance ? 
How do I meet those whom you fear 
and marvel at ? Do I not treat them as 
my slaves ? Who that sees me, but 
thinks he beholds his king and his lord ? 

So these are the accents of the Cynic, 
this his character, this his design. Not 
so — but it is his bag, and his staff, and 



49 



his great jaws ; and to devour all that is 
given to him, or store it up, or to reprove 
out of season everyone that he may 
meet, or to wear his cloak half off his 
shoulder. 

Do you see how you are about to 
take in hand so great a matter ? First 
take a mirror, look on your shoulders, 
mark well your loins and thighs. You 
are about to enter your name for the 
Olympic games, O man; no cold and 
paltry contest. Nor can you then be 
merely overcome and then depart; but 
first you must be shamed in the sight of 
all the world; and not alone of the 
Athenians or Lacedaemonians, or Nico- 
politans. And then if you have too 
rashly entered upon the contest, you 
must be thrashed, and before being 
thrashed must suffer thirst and scorching 
heat, and swallow much dust. 

Consider more closely, know yourself, 
question your genius, attempt nothing 



SO 



am 



without God j who, if he counsel you, 
be sure he wills you either to be great 
or to be greatly plagued. For this very 
agreeable circumstance is linked with the 
calling of a Cynic ; he must be flogged 
like an ass, and, being flogged, must love 
those who flog him, as if he were the 
father or brother of all mankind. Not 
so, but if one shall flog you, stand in the 
midst and shriek out, O Caesar, what 
things do I suffer in the Emperor's 
peace ! Let us take him before the pro- 
consul. 

But what is Caesar to the Cynic ? or 
what is a pro-consul ? or what is any 
other than He that has sent him hither, 
and whom he serves, which is Zeus ? 
Does he call on any other than God ? 
Is he not persuaded, whatever things he 
may suffer, that he is being trained and 
exercised by God ? Heracles, when he 
was exercised by Eurystheus, never 
deemed himself wretched; but fulfilled 



•:/.•.*•• 






51 



courageously all that was laid upon him. 
But he who shall cry out and bear it 
hard when he is being trained and exer- 
cised by Zeus, is he worthy to bear the 
sceptre of Diogenes ? Hear what Diog- 
enes says, when ill of a fever, to the by- 
standers : Base souls, will ye not remain ? 
To see the overthrow and combat of 
athletes, how great a way you journey to 
Olympia ; and have you no will to see a 
combat between a fever and a man ? 

And will such an one presently accuse 
God who has sent him, as having used 
him ill — he who was glorying in his lot, 
and held himself worthy to be a spec- 
tacle to the bystanders ? For of what 
shall he accuse Him : that his life is 
seemly, that he manifests God's will, 
that he shows forth his virtue more 
brightly ? Come, then ; and what says 
he about death, about pain ? How did 
he compare his own happiness with that 
of the Great King ? nay, he thought 



52 




rather that there was no comparison. 
For where there are confusions and griefs 
and fears and unattained pursuits and 
avoidance in vain and envy and rivalry 
can the way to happiness lie there ? But 
where rotten opinions are there must of 
necessity be all these things. 

And the young man having asked 
whether one that has fallen ill shall 
obey, if a friend desire that he will go 
home with him and be tended : Where, 
he said, will you show me the friend of 
a Cynic ? For he himself must be even 
such another, so as to be worthy to be 
reckoned his friend. A sharer in the 
sceptre and the royalty must he be, and 
a worthy servant, if he will be worthy 
of his friendship, as Diogenes was of 
Antisthenes and Crates of Diogenes. 
Or seems it so to you that whoever 
shall come to him and bid him hail is 
his friend ? and that he will think him 
worthy that a Cynic shall go to his 




53 



n 



£LL 



house ? Thus, if it please you to be a 
Cynic, bethink you rather of such a 
thing as this, and cast about for a dainty 
dungheap whereon to have your fever; 
and see that it look away from the north, 
so that you be not chilled, But you 
seem to me to wish to retreat into some- 
body's house and spend your time there, 
and be fed. What have you to do with 
undertaking so great a matter ? 

But marriage, said he, and the beget- 
ting of children, — are these to be re- 
ceived by the Cynic among his chief 
purposes ? 

Give me, said Epictetus, a city of 
wise men, and perhaps no one will easily 
come to the Cynic way : for whose sake 
should he embrace it ? However, if we 
do suppose such a thing, there is nothing 
to hinder his marrying and begetting 
children ; for his wife will be even such 
another, and his father-in-law such an- 
other, and thus will his children be 




54 




brought up. But things being as they 
now are, as it were in order of battle, 
must not the Cynic be given wholly and 
undistracted to the service of God, being 
able to go about among men, and not 
bound to private duties, nor entangled 
in ties which, if he transgress, he can no 
longer preserve the aspect of honesty and 
goodness ; and if he obey them, he has 
lost that of the missionary, the spy, the 
herald of the Gods ? For see ! he must 
needs observe a certain conduct toward 
his father-in-law, and he has somewhat 
to render also to the rest of his wife's 
kin and to his wife herself. And for the 
rest, he is shut off from Cynism by the 
care for sickness, or means of livelihood. 
For one thing alone, he must have a 
vessel for warming water for his little 
child, where he may wash it in the bath ; 
and wool for his wife when she has been 
delivered, and oil and a couch, and a 
drinking cup — already a number of 




55 




utensils — and other affairs and distrac- 
tions. Where shall I thenceforth find 
that king, whose whole business is the 
common weal ? 

" Warden of men, and with so many cares," 

on whom it lies to oversee all men, the 
married, and parents, and who uses his 
wife well, and who ill, and who wrangles, 
and what household is well-ordered, and 
what not ; going about as a physician and 
feeling pulses — " you have a fever, you 
a headache^ you the gout , do you fast, do 
you eat, do you avoid the bath, you need 
the knife, you the cautery ? " 

Where is the place for leisure to one 
who is bound to private duties ? Must 
he not provide raiment for his children ? 
yea, and send them to the schoolmaster 
with their tablets and writing instru- 
ments ? and have a bed ready for them, 
since a man cannot be a Cynic from the 
womb ? Else were it better to cast them 




56 



away at once than kill them in this way. 
See, now, to what we have brought our 
Cynic — how we have taken away his 
kingship from him ! 

True, but Crates married. 

You speak of a circumstance that 
arose from love, and adduce a wife who 
was another Crates. But our inquiry is 
concerning common marriages, and how 
men may be undistracted ; and thus in- 
quiring, we do not find it, in this condi- 
tion of the world, a purpose of chief 
concern for a Cynic. 

How, then, said he, shall he still be 
preserving the community ? God help 
you ! Whether do they best serve man- 
kind who fill their own place by bringing 
into the world two or three screaming 
children, or those who, as far they may, 
oversee all men, what they do, how they 
live, wherefore they concern themselves, 
and what duties they neglect ? And 
were the Thebans more benefited by as 



57 




6*. 



,<»&" 



IIMIHMII>'IKi»K» 



many as left their little children behind, 
or by Epaminondas, who died childless ? 
And did Priam, who begat fifty good-for- 
nothing sons, or Danaus, or Mollis, 
better serve the community than Homer ? 

Shall, then, the command of an army 
or the writing of poems withdraw a man 
from marriage and fatherhood, and he 
shall not be thought to have gained noth- 
ing for his childlessness, but the kingship 
of a Cynic shall be not worth what it 
costs ? 

It may be we do not perceive his 
greatness, nor do we worthily conceive 
of the character of Diogenes ; but we 
turn away our eyes to the present Cynics, 
" watch-dogs of the dining-room," as Ho- 
mer said, who in nothing resemble those 
others, save perchance in breaking wind ; 
but in no other thing. For else these 
things would not have moved us, nor 
should we have marvelled if a Cynic will 
not marry or beget children. Man ! he 




58 



has begotten all mankind, he has all men 
for his sons, all women for his daughters ; 
so he visits all and cares for all. Think 
you that he is a mere meddler and busy- 
body in rebuking those whom he meets ? 
As a father he does it, as a brother, and 
as servant of the Universal Father, who 
is God. 

If it please you, ask of me also 
whether he shall have to do with affairs 
of public polity ? 

Fool ! do you seek a greater polity 
than that in whose affairs he is already 
concerned ? Will it be greater if he 
come forward among the Athenians to 
say something about ways or means — 
he, whose part it is to discourse with all 
men, Athenians, Corinthians, Romans 
alike, not concerning means or ways, or 
concerning peace or war, but about happi- 
ness and unhappiness, about good-for- 
tune, and ill-fortune, about slavery and 
freedom ? And of a man that has his 




59 



L 



part in so great a polity will you ask me 
if he shall attend to public affairs ? Ask 
me also if he shall be a ruler ; and again 
I shall say, You fool, what rule can be 
greater than his ? 

And to such a man there is need also 
of a certain kind of body. For if he 
shall appear consumptive, meagre, and 
pale, his witness has not the same 
emphasis. Not only by showing forth 
the things of the spirit must he con- 
vince foolish men that it is possible, 
without the things that are admired of 
them, to be good and wise, but also in 
his body must he show that plain and 
simple and open-air living are not mis- 
chievous even to the body : " Behold, 
even of this I am a witness, I and my 
body." 

So Diogenes was wont to do, for he 
went about radiant with health, and with 
his very body he turned many to good. 
But a Cynic that men pity seems to be 



60 











a beggar — all men turn away from him, 
all stumble at him. For he must not 
appear squalid; so that neither in this 
respect shall he scare men away ; but his 
very austerity should be cleanly and 
pleasing. 

Much grace of body, then, must be- 
long to the Cynic, and also quickness of 
mind, else he is a mere clot of slime and 
nothing else; for he must be ready and 
apt to meet all that may befall him. 

Thus when one said to Diogenes : 
You are that Diogenes who thinks 
there are no Gods, he replied, And how 
may that be, seeing I hold you hateful 
to the Gods ? And again, when Alex- 
ander stood beside him, as he was lying 
asleep, and said : 

" Not all night must a man of counsel sleep," 

he answered, ere he was yet awake : 

" Warden of men, and with so many cares." 








^^'" ■ ^^^^S^S? <^r< *-^Vje»*x£> 



61 




T 



But before all things must his ruling 
faculty be purer than the sun, else he 
must needs be a gambler and cheater, 
who, being himself entangled in some 
iniquity, will reprove others. For, see 
how the matter stands : to these kings 
and tyrants, their spearmen and their 
arms give the office of reproving men, 
and the power to punish transgressors, 
yea, though they themselves be evil ; 
but to the Cynic, instead of arms and 
spearmen, his conscience gives this power. 
When he knows that he has watched and 
laboured for men, and lain down to sleep 
in purity, and sleep has left him yet 
purer; and that his thoughts have been 
the thoughts of one dear to the Gods, of 
a servant, and a sharer in the rule of 
Zeus ; and he hath had ever at hand that 
line of Cleanthes, 



Lead me, O Zeus, and thou Destiny/' 



and, 



62 



"If thus it be pleasing to the Gods, so may 
it be" — 

wherefore, then, shall he not take heart 
to speak boldly to his brothers, to his 
children, in a word, to all his kin ? For 
this reason, he that in this state is no 
meddler or busybody, for when he over- 
looks human affairs he meddles not with 
foreign matters, but with his own affairs. 
Else, name the general a busybody when 
he overlooks his soldiers, and reviews 
them, and watches them, and punishes 
the disorderly. But if you have a flat 
cake under your coat while you reprove 
others, I say, get hence rather into a 
corner, and eat what you have stolen — 
what are other men's concerns to you ? 
For what are you — the bull of the herd ? 
or the queen bee ? Show me the tokens 
of your supremacy, such as nature has 
given her. But if you are a drone 
claiming sovereignty over the bees, 
think you not that your fellow-citizens 




will overthrow you, as bees do the 
drones ? 

And truly the Cynic must be so long- 
suffering as that he shall seem to the 
multitude insensate and a stone. None 
reviles him or smites him or insults 
him ; but his body has he given to any 
man to use at will. For he remembers 
that the worse must needs be vanquished 
by the better, whereinsoever it is the 
worse ; and the body is worse than the 
multitude — the weaker than the stronger. 
Never, then, does he go down to any con- 
test where it is possible for him to be 
vanquished, but he yields up all that is 
not his own, and contends for nothing 
that is subject to others. But where 
there is question of the will and the use 
of appearances, then you shall see how 
many eyes he has, so that you may say 
that compared with him Argus was 
blind. 

Is his assent ever hasty j or his desire 




6 4 



idle ; or his pursuit in vain ; or his avoid- 
ance unsuccessful; or his aim unful- 
filled ? does he ever blame, or cringe, or 
envy ? This is his great study and his 
design; but as regards all other things, 
he lies on his back and snores, for all is 
peace. There is no thief of his will, 
or tyrant ; but of his i body ? yea ; and 
of his chattels ? yea, and also of his 
authority and his honours. 

What, then, are these things to him ? 
So when one may seek to make him 
afraid on account of them, — - Go hence, 
he says to him, and find out little 
children; to these are masks dread- 
ful, but I know they are made of 
clay, and that inside them there is noth- 
ing. 

On such a matter are you now medi- 
tating. Therefore, if it please you, in 
God's name delay it yet awhile, and see 
first what ability you have for it. For 
mark what Hector speaks to Andro- 



65 



BOOK II. 
I. 

ON GENUINE AND BORROWED BELIEFS 

The master argument seems to start 
from propositions such as these : — 
There being a mutual contradiction 
among these three propositions — 

(i) "Every past event is necessarily 
true," and 

(2) " An impossibility cannot follow 
a possibility," and 

(3) " Things are possible which 
neither are nor will be true." 

Diodorus, perceiving this contradic- 
tion, made use of the force of the first 
two in order to prove that nothing is 
possible which neither is nor will be 
true. And, again, one will hold these 
two, (3) that a thing is possible which 




67 









^^^Q^r^^^^^^r-^^^i) 




neither is nor will be true, and (2) that 
an impossibility cannot follow from a 
possibility ; but by no means that every 
past thing is necessarily true, and thus 
those of the school of Cleanthes appear 
to think, whom Antipater strongly de- 
fended. 

But some hold the other two, (3) that 
a thing is possible that neither is nor 
will be true, and (1) that every past 
event is necessarily true ; but maintain 
that an impossibility may follow from a 
possibility. But all three it is impossible 
to hold at once, because of their mutual 
contradiction. 

Now, if anyone inquire of me, And 
which of these do you hold ? I shall an- 
swer him that I do not know, but I 
have received this account, that Diodorus 
holds certain of them, and I think the 
followers of Panthoides and Cleanthes 
certain others, and those of Chrysippus 
yet others. 




9 ^ ^VfrSittk'. 



68 



And yourself ? 

Nay, it is no affair of mine to try my 
own thoughts, and to compare and esti- 
mate statements, and to form some opin- 
ion of my own upon the matter. 

And thus I differ no whit from the 
grammarians. Who was Hector's father ? 
Priam. And his brothers ? Alexander 
and Deiphobus. And their mother, who 
was she ? Hecuba. That is the account 
I have received. From whom ? From 
Homer ; and I think Hellanicus has 
written of them, and maybe others too. 

And I ; what better have I to say 
about the master argument ? But if I 
am a vain man, and especially at a ban- 
quet, I shall amaze all the company by 
recounting those who have written on 
it } — for Chrysippus wrote on it won- 
derfully in his first book " On Possibili- 
ties -, " and Cleanthes wrote a separate 
treatise on it, and so did Archedemus. 
And Antipater wrote too, not only in 




6 9 



his book, " On Possibilities," but also 
separately in those on the master argu- 
ment. Have you not read the work? 
No ! Then read it. 

And what good will it do him to read 
it ? He will become yet more of a 
babbler and a nuisance than he is now, 
for what else hath the reading of it done 
for you ? What opinion have you 
formed for yourself on the matter ? 
Nay, but you will tell us all about Helen, 
and Priam, and the island of Calypso, 
that never existed, nor ever will. 

And in Homer, indeed, it is no great 
matter if you have simply mastered the 
account, and formed no opinion of your 
own. But in ethics this is even much 
more often the case than in other mat- 
ters. Tell me concerning good and 
evil things ? Listen to him, then, with 
his — 

" The wind brought me from Troy unto 
Kikonia." 




70 



Of things some are good, some evil, and 
some indifferent. Now the good things 
are the virtues, and those that have the 
nature of virtue, and the evil things the 
vices, and those that have the nature of 
vice ; and the indifferent things are be- 
tween these, as wealth, health, life, death, 
pleasure, affliction. 

And how do you know this ? Be- 
cause Hellanicus affirms it in his history 
of the Egyptians ; for as well say this as 
that Diogenes has it in his Ethics, or 
Chrysippus, or Cleanthes. But have 
you tested any of their sayings, and 
formed an opinion for yourself? Show 
me how you are wont to bear a storm 
at sea. Do you remember the differ- 
ence between good and evil when the 
sail clatters, and some vexatious man 
comes to you as you are shrieking, and 
says — 

"Tell me, by the gods, what 

you were lately saying, Is it any vice to 



*f£> 



71 




be shipwrecked ? Has it anything of 
the nature of vice ? " 

Would you not lay hold of a stick 
and shake it in his face : Let us alone, 
man ; we are perishing, and you come 
to mock us ! 

And do you remember the difference 
if you are accused of something and 
Caesar sends for you ? If one should 
come to you when you enter, pale and 
trembling, and should say, " Why do 
you tremble, man ? what is your busi- 
ness concerned with ? Doth Caesar 
there within dispense virtue and vice to 
those who go in to him ? Why, you 
will say ; must you too mock me in my 
calamities ? 

" Nevertheless, tell me, O Phi- 
losopher, why you tremble — is it not 
merely death that you are in danger of, 
or imprisonment, or bodily suffering, or 
exile, or disgrace ? What else ? Is it any 
vice ? or anything of the nature of vice ? " 




72 



tt 



imBm 



And you will reply somewhat to this 
effect : Let me alone, man ; my own 
evils are enough for me. 

And truly you say well, for your own 
evils are enough for you; which are 
meanness, cowardice, and your false 
pretences when you sat in the school of 
philosophy. Why did you deck your- 
self in others' glory ? Why did you call 
yourself a Stoic ? 

Watch yourselves thus in the things 
that you do, and you shall see of what 
school you are. And the most of you 
will be found Epicureans, but some few 
Peripatetics, and those but slack. For 
where is the proof that you hold virtue 
equal to all other things, or indeed supe- 
rior ? Show me a Stoic, if you have 
one. Where or how can you ? But 
persons that repeat the phrases of Stoi- 
cism, of these you can show us any 
number. And do they repeat those 
of the Epicureans any worse ? and are 




73 





they not equally accurate in the Peripa- 
tetic ? 

Who is, then, a Stoic ? As we say 
that a statue is Pheidian which is 
wrought according to the art of Phei- 
dias, show me a man that is wrought 
according to the opinions he utters ! 
Show me one that is sick and yet pros- 
perous, in peril and prosperous, dying 
and prosperous, in exile and prosperous, 
in evil repute and prosperous. Show 
him to me ! by the Gods ! fain would I 
see a Stoic ! And have you none that is 
fully wrought out ; then show me at least 
one that is in hand to be wrought — one 
that even leans towards these things. 
Do me this favour — grudge not an old 
man a sight that I have never seen yet. 

Think you that I would have you 
show me the Zeus of Pheidias or the 
Athene — a work all ivory and gold ? 
Nay ; but let one show me a man's soul 
that longs to be like-minded with God, 



74 




and to blame neither Gods nor men, and 
not to fail in any effort or avoidance, 
and not to be wrathful or envious, or 
jealous, but — for why should I make 
rounds to say it ? — that desires to be- 
come a God from a man, and in this 
body of ours, this corpse, is mindful of 
his fellowship with Zeus. Show me 
that man. 

But you cannot ! Why, then, will 
you mock yourselves and cheat others ? 
Why wrap yourselves in others' garb, 
and go about, like thieves that steal 
clothes from the bath, with names and 
things that in nowise belong to you ? 

And now I am your teacher and you 
are being taught by me. And I have 
this aim — to perfect you, that you be 
unhindered, uncompelled, unembarrassed, 
free, prosperous, happy, looking unto 
God alone in all things great and small. 
And you are here to learn these things, 
and to do them. And wherefore do you 




75 



€ jT*\Jh . 




fLt^ 


not finish the work, if you have indeed 
such an aim as behoves you, and if I, 
besides the aim, have such ability as be- 
hoves me ? 

What is here lacking ? When I see 
a carpenter, and the wood lying beside 
him, I look for some work. And now, 
here is the carpenter, here is the wood 
— what is yet lacking ? Is the thing 
such as cannot be taught ? It can. Is 
it, then, not in our power ? Yea, this 
alone of all things is. Wealth is not in 
our power, nor health, nor repute, nor 
any other thing, save only the right use 
of appearances. This alone is by na- 
ture unhindered ; this alone is unembar- 
rassed. Wherefore, then, will you not 
make an end ? 

Tell me the reason. For either the 
fault lies in me, or in you, or in the 
nature of the thing. But the thing itself 
is possible, and indeed the only thing 
that is in our power. It remains that I 




^^^^^t!F^<^^^T^-^ Aftx*Z\ 





76 




77 




This above all is the task of Nature 
— to bind and harmonise together the 
force of the appearances of the Right 
and of the Useful. 

Things are indifferent, but the uses of 
them are not indifferent. How, then, 
shall one preserve at once both a stead- 
fast and tranquil mind, and also careful- 
ness of things, that he be not heedless or 
slovenly ? 

If he take example of dice players. 
The numbers are indifferent. The dice 
are indifferent. How can I tell what 
may be thrown up ? But carefully 
and skilfully to make use of what is 
thrown, that is where my proper busi- 
ness begins. And this is the great 




78 



task of life also, to discern things and 
divide them, and say, " Outward things 
are not in my power; to will is in my 
power. Where shall I seek the Good, 
and where the Evil? Within me — in 
all that is my own." But of all that is 
alien to you call nothing good or evil 
or profitable or hurtful, or any such 
term as these. 

What then ? should we be careless of 
such things ? Not at all. For this, 
again, is a vice in the Will and thus con- 
trary to Nature. But be at once care- 
ful, because the use of things is not 
indifferent, and steadfast and tranquil 
because the things themselves are. For 
where there is anything that concerns 
me, there none can hinder or compel 
me; and in those things where I am 
hindered or compelled, the attainment is 
not in my power, and is neither good 
nor evil ; but my use of the event is 
either evil or good, and this is in my 



79 



power. And hard it is, indeed, to mingle 
and reconcile together the carefulness of 
one whom outward things affect, with 
the steadfastness of him who regards 
them not. But impossible it is not ; 
and if it is, it is impossible to be happy. 

Give me one man that cares how he 
shall do anything — that thinks not of 
the gaining of the thing, but thinks 
of his own energy. 

Chrysippus, therefore, said well — 
"As long as future things are hidden 
from me, I hold always by whatever 
state is the most favourable for gaining 
the things that are according to Nature ; 
for God himself gave it to me to make 
such choice. But if I knew that it were 
now ordained for me to be sick, I would 
even move to it of myself. For the 
foot, too, if it had intelligence, would 
move of itself to be mired." 

For to what end, think you, are ears 
of corn produced ? Is it not that they 



80 



J 



^ 



may become dry and parched ? And the 
reason they are parched, is it not that 
they may be reaped ? for it is not to 
exist for themselves alone that they come 
into the world. If, then, they had per- 
ception, would it be proper for them to 
pray that they should never be reaped ? 
since never to be reaped is for ears of 
corn a curse. 

So understand that for men it is a 
curse not to die, just as not to be ripened 
and not to be reaped. But we, since we 
are both the things to be reaped and are 
also conscious that we shall be reaped, 
are indignant thereat. For we know 
not what we are, nor have we studied 
what concerns humanity, as those that 
have the care of horses study what con- 
cerns them. 

But Chrysantas, when just about to 
smite the enemy, forbore on hearing the 
trumpet sounding his recall; so much 
better did it seem to him to obey the 






81 




commander's order than to do his own 
will. But of us not one will follow with 
docility the summons even of necessity, 
but weeping and groaning the things that 
we suffer, we suffer, calling them our 
doom. 

What doom, man ? If by doom you 
mean that which is doomed to happen to 
us, then we are doomed in all things. 
But if only our afflictions are to be called 
doom, then what affliction is it that 
that which has come into being should 
perish ? But we perish by the sword, 
or the wheel, or the sea, or the tile of a 
roof, or a tyrant. What matters it by 
what road you go down into Hades ? 
they are all equal. But if you will hear 
the truth, the way the tyrant sends you 
is the shortest. Never did any tyrant 
cut a man's throat in six months, but a 
fever will often be a year killing him. 
All these things are but noise, and a 
clatter of empty names. 



>N 



82 



But let us do as in setting out on a 
voyage. What is it possible for me to 
do ? This — to choose the captain, 
crew, the day, the opportunity. Then 
a tempest has burst upon us ; but what 
does it concern me ? I have left nothing 
undone that was mine to do ; the prob- 
lem is now another's, to wit, the cap- 
tain's. But now the ship is sinking ! 
and what have I to do ? I do only 
what I am able — drown without terror 
and shrieking and accusing of God, but 
knowing that that which has come into 
being must also perish. For I am no 
Immortal, but a man, a part of the sum 
of things as an hour is of the day. Like 
the hour I must arrive, and, like the 
hour, pass away. What, then, can it 
matter to me how I pass away — 
whether by drowning or by a fever ? for 
pass I must, even by some such thing. 

Now, this is what you shall see done 
by skilful ball-players. None cares for 



83 



the ball as for a thing good or bad ; but 
only about throwing it and catching it. 
In this, then, there is rule, in this art, 
quickness, judgment; so that I may fail 
of catching the ball, even if I spread out 
my lap, and another, if I throw it, may 
catch it. But if I am anxious and nerv- 
ous as I catch and throw, what kind of 
play is this ? how shall one be steady ? 
how shall one observe the order of the 
game ? One will call " Throw," " Do 
and another. 



" You have 
But this is strife and 



not throw, 
thrown once, 
not play. 

Thus Socrates knew how to play ball. 
How ? When he jested in the court of 
justice. 

" Tell me, Anytus," he said, " how 
say you that I believe there is no God ? 
The Daemons, who are they, think you ? 
Are they not sons of God, or a mixed 
nature between Gods and men ? " 

And when this was admitted — 



8 4 




"Who, do you think, can hold that 
mules exist, but not asses ? " 

And thus he >layed with the ball. 
And what was the ball that was there 
thrown about among them ? Life, 
chains, exile, a draught of poison, to be 
torn from a wife, to leave children or- 
phans. These were the things among 
them that they played withal ; yet none 
the less did he play, and flung the ball 
with proper grace and measure. And so 
should we do also, having the carefulness 
of the most zealous piayers, and yet in- 
difference, as were it merely about a 
ball. 




85 



III. 



THINGS ARE WHAT THEY ARE 



Each thing that allures the mind, or 
offers an advantage, or is loved by you, 
remember to speak of it as it is, from 
the smallest things upward. If you love 
an earthen jar, then think, I love an 



earthen 



jar, 



for so shall 



you not be 
And when 



troubled when it breaks 
you kiss your little child, or wife, think, 
I kiss a mortal ; and so shall you not be 
troubled when they die. 

When you are about to take in hand 
some action, bethink you what it is that 
you are about to do. If you go to the bath, 
represent to yourself all that takes place 
there — the squirting of water, the slap- 
ping, the scolding, the pilfering; and 
then shall you take the matter in hand 



86 




more safely, saying straightway : I de- 
sire to be bathed, and maintain my pur- 
pose according to Nature. 

And even so with each and every 
action. For thus, if aught should occur 
to cross you in your bathing, this thought 
shall be straightway at hand : But not 
this alone did I desire ; but also to main- 
tain my purpose according to Nature. 
And I shall not maintain it if I have in- 
dignation at what happens here. 

The first difference between the vulgar 
man and the philosopher : The one says, 
Woe is me for my child, my brother, 
woe for my father ; but the other, if ever 
he shall be compelled to say, Woe is 
me, checks himself and says, for myself. 
For nothing that the Will wills not can 
hinder or hurt the Will, but itself only 
can hurt itself. 

If then, indeed, we too incline to this, 
that when we are afflicted we accuse 
ourselves, and recollect that nothing else 







/ . • A 



s 



87 







£.*»-' 



k • ■ 3 






than Opinion can cause us any trouble 
or unsettlement, I swear by all the Gods 
we have advanced ! But as it is, we 
have from the beginning travelled a dif- 
ferent road. While we are still children, 
if haply we stumbled as we were gaping 
about, the nurse did not chide us, but 
beat the stone. For what had the stone 
done ? Ought it to have moved out of 
the way, for your child's folly ? Again, 
if we find nothing to eat after coming 
from the bath, never does the tutor 
check our desire, but he beats the 
cook. 

Man, we did not set you to be a 
tutor of the cook, but of our child — 
him shall you train, him improve. And 
thus, even when full-grown, we appear 
as children. For a child in music is 
he who has not learned music, and in 
letters, one who has not learned let- 
ters, and in life, one undisciplined in 
philosophy. 




88 



It is not things, but the opinions 
about the things, that trouble mankind. 
Thus Death is nothing terrible; if it 
were so, it would have appeared so to 
Socrates. But the opinion we have 
about Death, that it is terrible, that it is 
wherein the terror lies. When, there- 
fore, we are hindered, or troubled, or 
grieved, never let us blame any other 
than ourselves : that is to say, our opin- 
ions. A man undisciplined in philosophy 
blames others in matters in which he 
fares ill ; one who begins to be disci- 
plined blames himself, one who is dis- 
ciplined, neither others nor himself. 

Be not elated in mind at any superiority 
that is not of yourself. If your horse 
were elated and should say, I am beauti- 
ful, that would be tolerable. But when 
you are elated and say, I have a beauti- 
ful horse, know that it is at an excellence 
in your horse that you are elated. What, 
then, is your own ? This — to make 



8 9 




9 o 




THREE STEPS TO PERFECTION 

There are three divisions of Philoso- 
phy wherein a man must exercise himself 
who would be wise and good. 

The first concerns his pursuit and 
avoidance, so that he may not fail of 
anything that he would attain, or fall 
into anything that he would avoid. 

The second concerns his desires 
aversions, and, generally, all that it 
comes a man to be, so that he bear him- 
self orderly and prudently and not 
heedlessly. 

The third is that which 
curity from delusion and hasty apprehen- 
sion, and, generally, the assenting to 
appearances. 

Of these the chief and most urgent is 



,'. •?-„■% .. 




91 



that which has to do with the passions, 
for the passions arise in no other way 
than by our failing in endeavour to 
attain or to avoid something. That 
is what brings in troubles and tumults 
and ill-luck and misfortune, that is the 
cause of griefs and lamentations and 
envies, that makes envious and jealous 
men ; by which things we become un- 
able even to hear the doctrines of 
reason. 

The second concerns that which is 
becoming to a man ; for I must not be 
passionless, like a statue, but maintain 
all relations natural and acquired, as a 
religious being, as a son, as a brother, as 
a father, as a citizen. 

The third is that which concerns men 
as soon as they are making advance in 
philosophy, which provides for the secu- 
rity of the two others ; so that not even 
in dreams may any appearance that ap- 
proaches us pass untested, nor in wine, 



92 




nor in ill-humours. This, a man may 
say, is beyond us. But the philosophers 
of this day, passing by the first and 
second parts of philosophy, occupy them- 
selves in the third, cavilling, and arguing 
by questions, and constructing hypotheses 
and fallacies. For, they say, when deal- 
ing with these subjects a man must guard 
himself from delusion. Who must ? 
The wise and good man. 

And this security is all you lack, then ; 
the rest you have wrought out already ? 
You are not to be imposed upon by 
money ? and if you see a fair girl you can 
hold out against the appearance ? and if 
your neighbour inherits a legacy you are 
not envious ? there is now, in short, 
nothing lacking to you except to confirm 
what you have ? Wretch ! these very 
things do you hear in fear and anxiety 
lest some one may despise you, and in- 
quiring what men say about you. And 
if someone come and tell you that when 




93 



£ 



i£I_ 



it was discussed who was the best of the 
philosophers, one present said, Such a 
one is the greatest philosopher, your 
little soul will grow up from a finger's 
breadth to two cubits. And if another 
who was present said, Nothing of the 
kind ; it is not worth while to listen to 
him ; for what does he know ? he has 
made a beginning in philosophy and no 
more, you are amazed, you grow pale, 
and straightway you cry out, I will show 
him who I am, that I am a great philos- 
opher. 

Out of these very things it is seen 
what you are ; why do you desire to 
show it by any others ? 



94 




THAT A MAN MAY BE BOTH BOLD AND 
TIMID 

To some it may perchance seem a 
paradox, this axiom of the philosophers ; 
yet let us make the best inquiry we can 
if it be true that it is possible to do all 
things at once with timidity and with 
boldness. For timidity seems in a man- 
ner contrary to boldness, and contraries 
can never coexist. But that which to 
many seems a paradox in this matter 
seems to me to stand somehow thus : 
If we affirmed that both timidity and 
boldness could be used in the very same 
things, they would justly accuse us that 
we were reconciling what is irreconci- 
lable. But now, what is there so strange 
in this saying ? 




95 




For if it is sound, what has been so 
often both affirmed and demonstrated, 
that the essence of the Good is in the 
use of appearances, and likewise so of 
the Evil, and things uncontrollable by 
the Will have the nature neither of good 
nor of evil, what paradox do the phi- 
losophers affirm if they say that in things 
uncontrollable by the Will, then be bold- 
ness thy part, and in things subject to 
the Will, timidity. For if Evil lie in 
an evil Will, then in these things alone 
is it right to use timidity. And if things 
uncontrollable by the Will, and that are 
not in our power, are nothing to us, 
then in these things we should use bold- 
ness. And thus shall we be at one time 
both timid and bold — yea, and bold even 
through our timidity. For through being 
timid in things that are veritably evil it 
comes that we shall be bold in those that 
are not so. 

But we, on the contrary, fall victims 




9 6 





•'.' 


as deer do. When these are terrified 
and fly from the beaters, whither do they 
turn and to what do they retreat as a 
refuge ? To the nets : and thus they 
perish, confusing things to fear and 
things to be bold about. And thus do 
we also. 

Where do we employ fear ? In things 
beyond our W T ill. And wherein do we 
act boldly, as were there nothing to 
dread ? In things subject to the Will. 
To be beguiled, then, or to be rash, or 
to do some shameless act, or with base 
greed to pursue some object — these 
things concern us no whit if we may 
only hit the mark in things beyond the 
Will. But where death is, or exile, or 
suffering, or evil repute, there we run 
away, there we are scared. Therefore, 
as it were to be looked for in those who 
are astray in the things of greatest mo- 
ment, we work out our natural boldness 
into swaggering, abandonment, rashness, 






3 6*>>£> gj] 







97 




€»>. 



shamelessness ; and our natural timidity 
and shamefastness into cowardice and 
meanness, full of terror and trouble. 

For if one should transfer his timidity 
to the realm of the Will, and the works 
thereof, straightway, together with the 
intention of fearing to do wrong he shall 
have it in his power to avoid doing it; 
but if he use it in things out of our own 
power and beyond the Will, then striving 
to avoid things that are in others' power 
he shall of necessity be terrified and un- 
settled and troubled. For death is not 
fearful, nor is pain, but the fear of pain 
or death. And thus we praise Euripides, 
who said : 

" Fear not to die, but fear a coward's death." 

It is right, then, that we should turn 
our boldness against death, and our ti- 
midity against the fear of death. But 
now we do the contrary : death we flee 




9 8 



from, but as to the state of our opinion 
about death we are negligent, heedless, 
indifferent. 

These things Socrates did well to call 
bugbears. For as to children, through 
their inexperience, ugly masks appear 
terrible and fearful ; so we are somewhat 
in the same way moved towards the 
affairs of life, for no other cause than as 
children are affected by these bugbears. 
For what is a child ? Ignorance. What 
is a child ? That which has never 
learned. For when he knows these 
things he is nowise inferior to us. 

What is death ? A bugbear. Turn 
it round ; examine it : see, it does not 
bite. Now or later that which is body 
must be parted from that which is spirit, 
as formerly it was parted. Why, then, 
hast thou indignation if it be now ? for 
if it be not now, it will be later. And 
wherefore ? That the cycle of the 
world may be fulfilled; for it has need 




99 



L 



of a present and of a future and of a 
past. 

What is pain ? A bugbear. Turn it 
about and examine it. This poor body 
is moved harshly, then again softly. If 
you have no advantage thereof, the door 
is open ; if you have, then bear it. For 
in all events it is right that the door 
should stand open, and so have we no 
distress. 

Shall I, then, exist no longer ? 

Nay, you shall exist, but as something 
else, whereof the universe has now need. 
For neither did you choose your own 
time to come into existence, but when 
the universe had need of you. 

What, then, is the fruit of these opin- 
ions ? That which ought to be the fair- 
est and comeliest to those who have been 
truly taught, — tranquillity, courage, and 
freedom. For concerning these things, 
the multitude are not to be believed who 
say that those only should be taught who 



IOO 



are freemen, but the philosophers rather, 
who say that those only are free who 
have been taught. 

How is this ? 

It is thus — Is freedom anything else 
than the power to live as we choose ? 

Nothing else. 

Do you choose, then, to live in sin ? 

We do not choose it. 

None, therefore, that fears or grieves 
or is anxious is free ; but whoever is 
released from griefs and fears and anxie- 
ties is by that very thing released from 
slavery. How, then, shall we still be- 
lieve you, most excellent legislators, when 
you say, " We permit none to be taught, 
save freemen ? " for the philosophers 
say, "We permit none to be free save 
those who have been taught " — that is, 
God permits it not. 

So, when a man turns round his slave 
before the Praetor and manumits him, 
has he done nothing ? 



IOI 



He has done something. 

And what ? 

He has turned round his slave before 
the Praetor. 

Nothing else at all ? 

Yea, this too — he must pay for him 
the tax of the twentieth. 

What then ? has the man thus treated 
not gained his freedom ? 

No more than he has gained tranquil- 
lity of mind. For you, who are able to 
emancipate others, have you no master ? 
is money not your master, or lust, or a 
tyrant, or some friend of a tyrant ? 
Why, then, do you tremble when you are 
to meet with some affliction in this kind ? 
And therefore, I say oftentimes, be these 
things your study, be these things ever 
at your hand, wherein ye should be 
bold and wherein timid ; bold in things 
beyond the Will, timid in things subject 
to the Will. 




VI. 

THE WISE MAN'S FEAR AND THE FOOl/s 

The appearances by which the mind 
of man is smitten with the first aspect of 
a thing as it approaches the soul, are not 
matters of the will, nor can we control 
them ; but by a certain force of their 
own the objects which we have to com- 
prehend are borne in upon us. But that 
ratification of them, which we name as- 
sent, whereby the appearances are com- 
prehended and judged, these are voluntary, 
and are done by human choice. Where- 
fore at a sound from the heavens, or 
from the downfall of something, or some 
signal of danger, or anything else of this 
kind, it must needs be that the soul of 
the philosopher too shall be somewhat 
moved, and he shall shrink and grow 



PT ' / V ikf 




ItM^to 










4HTl &?WT *l 


->HmK 









103 




pale ; not through any opinion of evil 
that he has formed, but through certain 
rapid and unconsidered motions that fore- 
stall the office of the mind and reason. 
Soon, however, that philosopher doth 
not approve the appearances to be truly 
objects of terror to his soul, — that is 
to say, he assents not to them nor rat- 
ifies them ; but he rejects them, and casts 
them out ; nor doth there seem to be in 
them anything that he should fear. But 
in this, say the philosophers, the wise 
man differs from the fool, — that the fool 
thinks the appearances to be in truth even 
so harsh and rough as they seemed at 
their first shock upon the soul ; and tak- 
ing them, as at first, to be rightly dreaded, 
he thus ratifies and approves them by 
his assent. The philosopher, however, 
though for a short time his colour and 
countenance have been changed, does 
not then assent, but he retains in its 
steadfastness and vigour the opinion he 




104 



ever had of these appearances, that they 
are in no wise to be feared, but affright 
only by a false show and empty threat. 
Such as is a dish of water, such is the 
soul ; such as is the ray of light that falls 
on the same, such are the appearances. 
When the water is moved, then the ray 
seems also to be moved; but it is not 
moved. And thus when a man's mind 
is darkened and dizzy, it is not doctrines 
and virtues that are confounded, but the 
spirit on which they are impressed. And 
if that is restored, so are they, 



105 



VII. 

APPEARANCES FALSE AND TRUE 

Appearances exist for us in four 
ways. Either things appear as they 
are ; or having no existence, neither do 
they appear to have it; or they exist, 
and appear not ; or they exist not, and yet 
appear. So, in all these cases, to hit the 
mark is the work of him who has been 
taught in philosophy. 

But whatever it be that afflicts us, it 
is to that thing that the remedy is to be 
applied. If it is the sophisms of the 
Pyrrhonists and Academics that afflict 
us, to them let us apply the remedy. If 
it is the delusiveness of things, whereby 
that appears to be good which is not so, 
to that let us seek for the remedy. 

If a habit afflict us, against that must 






1 06 



we endeavour to find some remedy. And 
what remedy is to be found against a 
habit ? The contrary habit. You hear 
the ignorant when they say, The 
wretched man is dead ; his father is per- 
ishing with grief for him, or his mother ; 
he was cut off, yea, and untimely, and in 
a strange land. 

Hearken, then, to the contrary words. 
Tear thyself away from such utterances. 
Against habit set the contrary habit. 
Against the words of the Sophists have 
the maxims of philosophers and the exer- 
cise and constant usage of them ; against 
the delusiveness of things have clear 
natural conceptions ever burnished and 
ready. 

Whenever death may appear to be an 
evil, have ready the thought that it is 
right to avoid evils, and that death is 
unavoidable. For what shall I do ? 
whither shall I flee from it? Let it be 
granted that I am no Sarpedon, son of 










107 



-V 


^ - 


^^^i 


^^^Qi^fM^i^^^i^^ 


(JA>OT/W 


Zeus, to speak in that lofty style : I go, 
either to do great deeds myself, or to give 
another the chance of doing them ; though 
I myself fail I shall not grudge it to 
another to do nobly. 

Let it be granted that this is above us ; 
still can we not at least rise to the height 
of that ? And whither shall I flee from 
death ? declare to me the place ; declare 
to me the men among whom I shall go, to 
whom death comes never near; declare 
to *me the charms against it. If I have 
none, what would you have me do ? I 
cannot escape death — shall I not then 
escape the fear of death ? shall I die 
lamenting and trembling ? 

In this is the source of suffering, to 
wish for something, and that it should 
not come to pass ; and thence it is that 
when I am able to alter outward things 
at my desire, I do so, but when not, I 
am ready to tear out the eyes of him that 
hinders me. For man is so made by 








fc* •"Vfre&B. 1 ' 



108 



nature that he will not bear to be de- 
prived of the Good nor to fall into the 
Evil. And in the end, when I am neither 
able to alter outward things nor to tear 
out the eyes of him that hinders me, I 
sit down and groan and rail on whom- 
ever I can, Zeus and the other Gods ; — 
for if they neglect me, what have I to do 
with them ? 

Yea, but thou wilt be an impious man. 

And how shall I be worse off than I 
am now ? Here is the whole matter : 
Remember that unless religion and profit 
meet in the same thing, religion cannot 
be saved in any man. Do not these 
things mightily convince of their truth ? 

Let the Pyrrhonist and the Academic 
come and make their attack — I, for my 
part, have no leisure for such discussions, 
nor am I able to argue in defence of 
general consent. For if I had a suit 
about a little piece of land, would I not 
call in another to argue for me ? Where- 

^ 



■ssfistei 



109 



with shall I be satisfied ? With that 
which concerns the matter in hand. 
How perception takes place, whether by 
the whole man or by parts, perhaps I 
know not how to declare : both opinions 
perplex me. But that you and I are not 
the same I know very clearly. 

Whence know you this ? 

Never, when I wish to eat, do I carry 
the morsel to another man's mouth, but 
to my own. Never, when I wish to 
take a piece of bread, do I lay hold of a 
broom, but I always go to the bread, as 
to a mark. And you who deny the truth 
of perception, what do you other than I ? 
Which of you, desiring to go to the bath, 
ever went into a mill ? 

What then ? Ought we not, accord- 
ing to our abilities, to busy ourselves 
with the upholding of general consent, 
and raising defences against all that op- 
pose the same ? 

And who denies it ? But let him do 



"**• tv. 



.V 






no 




Ill 




VIII. 

HOW WE SHOULD THINK AS GOD'S OFF- 
SPRING 

If those things are true which are said 
by philosophers concerning the kinship of 
God and men, what else remains for men 
to do than after Socrates' way, who never, 
when men inquired of him what was his 
native country, replied Athens or Corinth, 
but the universe. For why will you say 
you are an Athenian, and not rather 
name yourself from that nook alone into 
which your wretched body was cast at 
birth ? 

Is it not plainly from the lordlier 
place, and that which contains not only 
that nook and all thy household, but also 
the whole land whence the race of your 
ancestors has come down even to you, 




112 



# 



^ssmm 



WQr 



that you call yourself Athenian or Corin- 
thian ? 

Whoever, therefore, has watched the 
governance of the universe, and has 
learned that the greatest and mightiest 
and amplest of all societies is that which 
is composed of mankind and of God ; 
and that from Him have descended the 
seeds not only to my father alone, nor 
to my grandfather, but to all creatures 
that are conceived and born upon the 
earth (but especially to reasoning beings, 
since to these alone has Nature given it 
to have communion and intercourse with 
God, being linked with Him through 
Reason), — wherefore should such a one 
not name himself a citizen of the uni- 
verse ; wherefore not a son of God ? 
wherefore shall he fear anything that 
may come to pass among men ? 

And shall kinship with Caesar, or with 
some other of those that are mighty at 
Rome, be enough to let us live in safety 




113 




and undespised and fearing nothing at 
all ; but to have God for our maker and 
father and guardian, shall this not avail 
to deliver us from griefs and fears ? 

But I have no money, says one; 
whence shall I have bread to eat ? 

Are you not ashamed to be more 
cowardly and spiritless than fugitive 
slaves are ? How do they leave their 
masters when they run away ? in what 
estates do they put their trust ? in what 
servants ? After stealing a little to serve 
them for the first few days, do they not 
afterwards journey by land and sea, and 
make their living by one device after 
another ? And when did ever any fugi- 
tive slave die of hunger ? But you 
tremble and sleep not of nights, for fear 
lest the necessaries of life fail you. 

Wretched man ! are you thus blind ? 
and see not the road whither the want of 
necessaries leads a man ? And whither 
leads it ? To the same place that a fever 




does, or a falling rock — to death. Have 
you not often said this to your friends ? 
and often read aloud these things, and 
written them ? and how often have you 
vaunted yourself that you were at peace 
about death ? 

Yea, but my dear ones shall also suffer 
hunger. 

What then ? Does their hunger lead 
to any other place than yours ? Do 
they not descend where you descend ? 
Is there not one underworld for them 
and you ? Will you not, then, be bold 
in all poverty and need, looking to that 
place whither the wealthiest of men and 
the mightiest governors, yea, and even 
kings and tyrants, must go down ; you, 
it may be, hungry, and they bursting 
with indigestion and drunkenness ? 

How seldom is it that a beggar is seen 
that is not an old man, and even of ex- 
ceeding age ? but freezing by night and 
day, and lying on the ground, and eating 




115 



only what is barely necessary, they come 
near to being unable to die. Can you 
not transcribe writings ? can you not 
teach children ? or be some man's door- 
keeper ? 

But it is shameful to come to such a 
necessity ! 

Then first of all learn what things are 
shameful, and afterwards tell us you are 
a philosopher. But at present suffer not 
even another man to call you so. 

Is that shameful to you which is not 
your own doing, whereof you are not the 
cause, which comes to you without your 
will, like a headache or a fever ? If your 
parents were poor, or made others their 
heirs, or are alive and give you nothing, 
are these things shameful to you ? Is 
this what you have learned from the 
philosophers ? Have you never heard 
that what is shameful is blamable ; and 
that which is blamable ought to be 
blamed ? 



116 



But what man will you blame for a 
work not his own, one that he himself 
never did ? And did you make your 
father such as he is ? or was it in your 
power to correct him ? — is it given you 
to do this ? 

What then ? Ought you to desire 



what 



is not given to you ? or 



to be 



ashamed if you attain it not ? Or have 
you been accustomed, in philosophy, to 
look to others, and to hope for nothing 
from yourself ? 

Lament, therefore, and groan, and eat 
your bread in fear, lest you have nothing 
to eat on the morrow. Tremble for 
your slaves, lest they steal, or run away, 
or die. Live thus, now and ever, having 
approached to the name only of phi- 
losophy, and brought the precepts of it 
to shame, as far as in you lies, showing 
them to be worthless and useless to those 
who adopt them ; you, who have never 
striven to gain steadfastness, tranquillity, 




117 




peace, never waited upon any man for 
the sake of these things, but upon many 
for the sake of learning syllogisms ; that 
never tested for your own self any one 
of these appearances : — Am I able to 
bear it, or am I not able ? What, then, 
remains for me to do ? 

But, as if all went fairly and safely 
with you, you abide in the final part 
of philosophy, that which confirms 
beyond all change — and wherein will 
you be confirmed ? in cowardice, mean- 
ness, admiration of wealth, in vain pur- 
suit, and vain efforts to avoid ? These 
are the things you meditate how to 
preserve unharmed. 

Should you not first have gained 
something from Reason, and then forti- 
fied this with safety ? Whom did you 
ever see building a coping round about, 
and never a wall on which to place it ? 
And what door-keeper is set on guard 
where there is no door ? 




But your study is how to prove propo- 
sitions — and what proposition? How 
the billows of false reasonings may 
not sweep you away — and away from 
what ? 

Show me first what thing you are 
guarding, or measuring, or weighing ; and 
afterwards the scales or the measuring- 
rod. Or how long will you still be 
measuring the dust ? Are not these the 
things it behoves thee to prove : — what 
it is that makes men happy, what makes 
things proceed as we would have them, 
how one should blame no man, accuse 
no man, and fit oneself to the ordering 
of the All ? Yea, prove me these ! 

But I do so, he says. See ! I resolve 
you syllogisms. Slave ! this is the meas- 
uring-rod — it is not the thing measured. 
Wherefore now you pay the penalty for 
philosophy neglected ; you tremble, you 
lie awake at nights, you seek counsel on 
every hand, and if the counsels are not 



119 



pleasing to all men, you think they were 
ill-counselled. 

Then you fear hunger, as you suppose. 
But it is not hunger that you fear — you 
fear you will have no cook, or any one 
else to buy victuals for you, or another 
to take off your boots, or another to 
put them on, or others to rub down, or 
others to follow you about, so that when 
you have stripped yourself in the bath, 
and stretched yourself out as if you were 
crucified, you may be rubbed to and fro, 
and then the rubber standing by may say, 
Turn him round, give me his side, take 
hold of his head, let me have his shoulder ; 
and then when you leave the bath and 
go home you may shout, Is no one bring- 
ing anything to eat ? and then, Take 
away the plates, and wipe them. 

This is what you fear, — lest you be 
not able to live like a sick man. But 
learn how those live that are in health — 
slaves, and labourers, and true philoso- 



I20 




phers ; how Socrates lived, who moreover 
had a wife and children ; how Diogenes 
lived ; how Cleanthes, who studied in 
the schools and drew his own water. 

If you would have these things, they 
are everywhere to be had, and you will 
live boldly. Bold in what ? In that 
wherein alone it is possible to be bold — 
in that which is faithful, which cannot be 
hindered, which cannot be taken away. 
But why have you made yourself so 
worthless and useless that no one is will- 
ing to receive you into his house or take 
care of you ? 

Now if any utensil were thrown away, 
and it were sound and serviceable, any 
one that found it would pick it up and 
think it a gain ; but no man would pick 
you up, or count you anything but loss. 
So you cannot so much as serve the 
purpose of a watch-dog, or a cock ? 
Why, then, will you still live, being such 
a man as you are ? 



121 



Does any good man fear lest the 
means of gaining food fail him ? They 
fail not the blind, or the lame ; shall 
they fail a good man ? To the good 
soldier there fails not one who gives him 
pay, nor to the labourer, nor to the shoe- 
maker; and shall such a one fail to the 
good man ? 

Is God, then, careless of his instru- 
ments, his servants, his witnesses, whom 
alone he uses to show forth to the un- 
taught what he is, and that he governs 
all things well, and is not careless of 
human things ? and that to a good man 
there is no evil, either in life or in 
death ? 

How, then, when He leaves them 
without food ? 

How else is this than as when a good 
general gives me the signal for retreat ? 
I obey, I follow, praising my leader and 
hymning his works. For I came when 
it pleased him, and when it pleases him 





SffpCflkT'Hy \^j 


I will go. In my lifetime also my work 
was to sing the praise of God, both 
alone to myself, and to single persons, 
and in presence of many. He does not 
provide me with many things, or with 
great abundance of goods; he will not 
have me live delicately. 

Neither did he provide so for Heracles, 
his own son, but another man reigned 
over Argos and Mykenai, while he 
obeyed and laboured and was disciplined. 
And Eurystheus was what he was — no 
king of Argos and Mykenai, since he 
was not king even of himself; and Her- 
acles was lord and leader of all the earth 
and sea, for he purged them of lawless- 
ness and wrong, and brought in right- 
eousness and holiness ; naked and alone 
did he this. 

And when Odysseus was shipwrecked 
and cast away, did his need humble him 
one whit or break his spirit ? But how 
did he go out to the maidens, to beg for 




^-i^^^fe34|lg 





123 



m 



the necessaries of life, which it is held 
most shameful to seek from another ? ' 

" Even as a lion from his mountain home, 
So went Odysseus trusting in his valour. ,, 
— Odyssey, vi. 130. 

Trusting in what ? Not in fame or 
wealth, but in his own valour — that is, 
his opinions of the things that are and 
are not in our power. For these alone 
make men free and unhindered ; lift up 
the heads of the abject, and bid them 
look rich men and tyrants steadily in the 
face. And this was the gift of the phi- 
losopher ; but you will never go forth 
boldly, but trembling for your fine rai- 
ment and silver dishes. Miserable man ! 
have you indeed thus wasted all your 
time till now ? 




124 




THE OPEN DOOR 

For my part I think the old man 
should be sitting here, not to devise how 
you may have no mean thoughts, or 
speak no mean nor ignoble things about 
yourselves, but to watch that there arise 
not among us youths of such a mind, 
that when they have perceived their kin- 
ship with the Gods, and how the flesh 
and its possessions are laid upon us like 
bonds, and how many necessities for the 
management of life are by them brought 
upon us, they may desire to fling these 
things away for abhorred and intolerable 
burdens, and depart unto their kin. And 
this is what your master and teacher — 
if, in sooth, you had any such — should 
have to contend with in you, — that you 
should come to him and say, 




125 



Epictetus, we can endure no longer 
being bound to this body, giving it food 
and drink, and resting it and cleansing 
it, and going about to court one man 
after another for its sake. Are not such 
things indifferent and nothing to us ? 
And is not Death no evil ? Are we not 
in some way kinsmen of God, and did 
we not come from him ? Let us depart 
to whence we came ; let us be delivered 
at last from these bonds wherewith we 
are bound and burdened ! Here are 
robbers, and thieves, and law courts, and 
those that are called tyrants, which 
through the body and its possessions 
seem as if they had some power over us. 
Let us show them that they have no 
power over any man ! 

And to this it should be my part to 
say, " My friends, wait upon God. 
When he himself shall give the signal 
and release you from this service, then 
are you released unto him. But for the 



present, bear to dwell in this place, 
wherein he has set you. Short, indeed, 
is this time of your sojourn, and easy to 
bear for those that are so minded. For 
what tyrant or what thief is there any 
longer, or what court of law is terrible to 
one who thus makes nothing of the body 
and the possessions of it ? Remain, 
then, and depart not without a reason." 

Some such part as this should the 
teacher have to play towards the well- 
natured among his disciples. 

How long, then, are such injunctions 
to be obeyed ? as long as it is profit- 
able — that is to say, as long as I can do 
what becomes and befits me. Then 
some men are choleric and fastidious, 
and say, " I cannot sup with this man, 
to have to hear him every day telling 
how he fought in Mysia." 

I told you, brother, how I went up 
the hill — then again I began to be be- 
sieged. . . . But another says, " I pre- 




127 




fer to have my supper, and listen to him 
prating as long as he likes." 

And compare the gain on both sides 

only do naught in heaviness or afflic- 
tion, or as supposing that you are in evil 
case. For to this no man can compel 
you. Does it smoke in the chamber? 
if it is not very much I will stay, if too 
much, I will go out ; for remember this 
always, and hold fast to it, that the door 
is open. 

You shall not live in Nicopolis* 

I will not. 

Nor in Athens. 

I will not live in Athens. 

Nor in Rome. 

Neither in Rome. 

Live in Gyara. 

I will live in Gyara. But living in 
Gyara seems to me like a great smoke. 
I will depart, whither no man shall hin- 
der me to dwell — for that dwelling 
stands ever open to all. 



128 











Only do it not unreasonably, not 
cowardly, nor make every common 
chance an excuse. For again, it is not 
God's will, for he has need of such an 
order of things, and of such a race 
upon the earth. But if he give the 
signal for retreat, as he did to Socrates, 
we must obey him as our commander. 








i <*k •****Zs? f^* ~"'' s *"~ ^^y^* ~"*t- Jj 









129 



KNOW THYSELF 

If a man have any advantage over 
others, or think himself to have it when 
he has it not, it cannot but be that if he 
is an untaught man he shall be puffed up 
by it. Thus the tyrant says, I am mas- 
ter of all. 

And what can you give me ? Can 
you set my pursuit free of all hindrance ? 
How is it in you to do that ? For have 
you the gift of never falling into what 
you shun ? or never missing the mark 
of your desire ? And whence have you 
it ? Come, now, in a ship do you trust 
to yourself or to the captain ? or in a 
chariot, to anyone else than the driver ? 
And how will you do with regard to 



130 



other acts ? Even thus. Where, then, 
is your power ? 

All men minister to me. 

And do I not minister to my plate, 
and I wash it and wipe it, and drive in a 
peg for my oil-flask ? What then ! are 
these things greater than I ? Nay, but 
they supply certain of my needs, and 
for this reason I take care of them. Yea, 
and do I not minister to my ass ? Do 1 
not wash his feet and groom him ? 
Know you not that every man ministers 
to himself? And he ministers to you 
also, even as he does to the ass. For 
who treats you as a man ? Show me 
one that does. Who wishes to be like 
you ? who becomes your imitator, as 
men did of Socrates ? 

But I can cut off" your head. 

You say well. I had forgotten that 
I must pay regard to you as to a fever or 
the cholera ; and set up an altar to you, 
as there is in Rome an altar to Fever. 






2 



131 



gr 



What is it, then, whereby the multi- 
tude is troubled and terrified ? The 
tyrant and his guards ? Never — God 
forbid it ! It is not possible that that 
which is by nature free should be 
troubled by any other thing, or hindered, 
save by itself. But it is troubled by 
opinions of things. For when the 
tyrant says to anyone, I will bind thy 
leg, then he who sets store by his leg 
says, Nay, have pity ! but he that sets 
store by his own Will, If it seem more 
profitable to you, then bind it. 

" Do you not regard me ? " 

I do not regard you. I will show you 
that I am master. How can you be 
that ? God' has set me free ; or think 
you that he would let his own son be 
enslaved ? You are lord of my dead 
body — take that. 

" So when you come near to me, 

you will not do me service ? " 

Nay, but I will do it to myself j and 



132 




if you will have me say that I do it to 
you also, I tell you that I do it as to my 
kitchen pot. 

This is no selfishness ; for every liv- 
ing creature is so made that it does all 
things for its own sake. For the sun 
does all things for his sake, and so, 
moreover, even Zeus himself. But when 
he will be Raingiver and Fruitgiver and 
Father of Gods and men, you see that 
he may not do these works and have 
these titles, without being serviceable to 
the common good. And, on the whole, 
he has so formed the nature of the rea- 
soning creature that he may never win 
any good of his own without furnishing 
something of service to the common 
good. Thus it is not to the excluding 
of the common good that a man do all 
things for himself. For is it to be ex- 
pected that a man shall stand aloof from 
himself and his own interest ? And 
where, then, would be that same and 




133 



'<* 



st'rt- 



single principle which we observe in all 
things, their affection to themselves ? 

So, then, when we act on strange and 
foolish opinions of things beyond the 
Will, as if they were good or evil, it is 
altogether impossible but we shall do 
service to tyrants. And would it were 
to the tyrants alone, and not to their 
lackeys also ! 

But what hinders the man that has 
distinguished these things to live easily 
and docile, looking calmly on all that is 
to be and bearing calmly all that is past ? 

Will you have me bear poverty ? 

Come, and see what poverty is when 
it strikes one that knows how to play the 
part well. 

Will you have me rule ? 

Give me power, then, and the pains 
of it. 

Banishment ? Wherever I go, it shall 
be well with me; for in this place it 
was well with me, not because of the 




134 




place, but because of the opinions which 
I shall carry away with me. For these 
no man can deprive me of. Yea, these 
only are mine own, whereof I can not 
be deprived, and they suffice for me as 
long as I have them, wherever I be, or 
whatever I do. 

"But now is the time come to 

die." 

What say you ? to die ? Nay, make 
no tragedy of the business, but tell it as 
it is. Now is it time for my substance 
to be resolved again into the things 
wherefrom it came together. And what 
is dreadful in this ? What of the things 
in the universe is about to perish ? What 
new, or what unaccountable thing is about 
to come to pass ? Is it for these things 
that a tyrant is feared ? through these 
that the guards seem to bear swords so 
large and sharp ? 

Tell that to others; but by me all 
these things have been examined ; no 




135 




man has power on me. I have been 
set free by God, I know his command- 
ments, henceforth no man can lead me 
captive. I have a liberator such as I 
need, and judges such as I need. Are 
you not the master of my body ? What 
is that to me ? Of my property ? What 
is that to me ? Of exile or captivity ? 
Again, I say, from all these things, and 
the poor body itself, I will depart when 
you will. Try your power, and you 
shall know how far it reaches. 

But the tyrant will bind — what ? 
The leg. He will take away what ? 
The head. What, then, can he not 
bind and not take away ? The Will. 
And hence that precept of the ancients 
— Know thyself. 

Whom, then, can I still fear ? The 
lackeys of the bedchamber ? For what 
that they can do ? Shut me out ? Let 
them shut me out, if they find me wish- 
ing to go in. 




136 







" Why, then, did you go to the 

doors ? " 

Because I hold it proper to join the 
play while the play lasts. 

" How, then, shall you not be 

shut out ? " 

Because if I am not received, I do not 
wish to enter; but always that which 
happens is what I wish. For I hold 
what God wills above what I will. I 
cleave to him as his servant and follower ; 
my impulses are one with his, my pursuit 
is one with his ; in a word, my will is 
one with his. 

There is no shutting out for me — 
nay, but for those who would force their 
way in. And wherefore do I not force 
my way ? Because I know that no good 
thing is dealt out within to those that 
enter. But when I hear some one con- 
gratulated on being honoured by Caesar, 
I say, What has fortune brought him ? 
A government ? Has it also, then, 









137 




la*. 



brought him such an opinion as he 
ought to have ? A magistracy r Has 
he also gained the power to be a good 
magistrate ? 

Why will I still push myself forward ? 
A man scatters figs and almonds abroad ; 
children seize them, and fight among 
themselves ; but not so men, for they 
hold it too trifling a matter. And if a 
man should scatter about oyster-shells, 
not even the children would seize them. 
Offices of government are dealt out — 
children will look for them ; money is 
given — children will look for it ; mili- 
tary commands, consulships — let chil- 
dren scramble for them. Let them be 
shut out and smitten, let them kiss the 
hands of the giver, of his slaves — it is 
figs and almonds to me. What then ? 
If you miss them when he is flinging 
them about, let it not vex you. If a fig 
fall into your bosom, take and eat it, for 
so far even a fig is to be valued. But if 




138 




139 



XL 

HOW WE SHOULD BEAR OURSELVES 
TOWARD EVIL MEN 

If that which the philosophers say is 
true — that there is one principle in 
all men, as when I assent to something, 
the feeling that it is so ; and when I 
dissent, the feeling that it is not so ; yea, 
and when I withhold my judgment, the 
feeling that it is uncertain ; and likewise, 
when I am moved toward anything, the 
feeling that it is for my profit, but it is 
impossible to judge one thing to be 
profitable and to pursue another, to judge 
one thing right and be moved toward 
another — why have we indignation with 
the multitude ? They are robbers, says 
one, and thieves. 

And what is it to be robbers and 



140 





■ -1 


thieves ? It is to err concerning things 
good and evil. Shall we, then, have 
indignation with them, or shall we pity 
them ? Nay, but show them the error, 
and you shall see how they will cease 
from their sins. But if they see it not, 
they have nothing better than the appear- 
ance of the thing to them. 

Should not, then, this robber, or this 
adulterer, be destroyed ? 

By no means, but take it rather this 
way : This man who errs and is de- 
ceived concerning things of greatest 
moment, who is blinded, not in the * 
vision which distinguishes black and 
white, but in the judgment which dis- 
tinguishes Good and Evil — should we 
not destroy him ? And thus speaking, 
you shall know how inhuman is that 
which you say, and how like as if you 
said, Shall we not destroy this blind man, 
this deaf man ? 

For if it is the greatest injury to be 


/■-^Axy^ 






^s^S-^^^^^i ^"^ £&?*•-' v ^VJe,m^> 



141 



deprived of the greatest things, and the 
greatest thing in every man is a Will 
such as he ought to have, and one be 
deprived of this, why are you still in- 
dignant with him ? Man, you should 
not be moved contrary to Nature by the 
evil deeds of other men. Pity him rather, 
be not inclined to offence and hatred, 
abandon the phrases of the multitude, 
like "these cursed wretches." How 
have you suddenly become so wise and 
hard to please ? 

Wherefore, then, are we indignant ? 
Because we worship the things which 
they deprive us of. Do not worship 
fine raiment, and you shall not be wroth 
with the thief. Do not worship the 
beauty of a woman, and you shall not be 
wroth with the adulterer. Know that the 
thief and the adulterer have no part in 
that which is your own, but in that 
which is foreign to you, in that which is 
not in your power. These things if you 




dismiss, and count them for naught, with 
whom will you still be wroth ? But as 
long as you value these things, be wroth 
with yourself rather than with others. 

Look now how it stands : You have 
fine raiment, your neighbour has not ; 
you have a window, and wish to air your 
clothes at it. The neighbour knows 
not what is the true good of man, but 
thinks it is to have fine raiment, the 
same thing that you also think. Then 
shall he not come and take them away ? 
Show a cake to greedy persons, and eat 
it up yourself alone, and will you have 
them not snatch at it ? Nay, but pro- 
voke them not. Have no window, and 
do not air your clothes. I also had lately 
an iron lamp set beside the images of 
the Gods; hearing a noise at the door, 
I ran down, and found the lamp carried 
ofF. I reflected that the thief s impulse 
was not unnatural. What then ? To- 
morrow, I said, you will find an earthen 



143 




lamp. For a man loses only what he 
has. I have lost a garment. For you 
had a garment. I have a pain in my 
head. Have you any pain in your horns ? 
Why, then, are you indignant ? For 
there is no loss and no suffering save 
only in those things which we possess. 




144 



XII. 

THE VOYAGE OF LIFE 

Even as in a sea voyage, when the 
ship is brought to anchor, and you go 
out to fetch in water, you make a by- 
work of gathering a few roots and shells 
by the way, but have need ever to keep 
your mind fixed on the ship, and con- 
stantly to look round, lest at any time 
the master of the ship call, and you must, 
if he call, cast away all those things, lest 
you be treated like the sheep that are 
bound and thrown into the hold : So it 
is with human life also. And if there 
be given wife and children instead of 
shells and roots, nothing shall hinder us 
to take them. But if the master call, 
run to the ship, forsaking all those things, 



145 




146 



XIII. 

THE MARK OF EFFORT 

Seek not to have things happen as 
you chose them, but rather choose them 
to happen as they do, and so shall you 
live prosperously. 

Disease is a hindrance of the body, 
not of the Will, unless the Will itself 
consent. Lameness is a hindrance of 
the leg, not of the Will. And this you 
may say on every occasion, for nothing 
can happen to you but you will find it a 
hindrance not of yourself but of some 
other thing. 

What, then, are the things that oppress 
us and perturb us ? What else than 
opinions ? He that goes away and 
leaves his familiars and companions and 
wonted places and habits — with what 
else is he oppressed than his opinions ? 




H7 









SS^^Si^r^^^E^^^^c:^^^-^ 


v^Avr^lA 


Now, little children, if they cry because 
their nurse has left them for a while, 
straightway forget their sorrow when 
they are given a small cake. Will you 
be likened unto a little child ? 

" Nay, by Zeus ! for I would 

not be thus affected by a little cake, but 
by right opinions." 

And what are these ? 

They are such as a man should study 
all day long to observe — that he be not 
subject to the effects of any thing that is 
alien to him, either of friend, or place, 
or exercises ; yea, even of his own body, 
but to remember the Law, and have it 
ever before his eyes. 

And what is the divine Law ? 

To hold fast that which is his own, 
and to claim nothing that is another's ; 
to use what is given him, and not to 
covet what is not given ; to yield up 
easily and willingly what is taken away, 
giving thanks for the time that he has 




f^\g*3y^ ^*i i^Y~ ^i^T"— v-w 




*' V "^ => »vft^fit^-" 



148 



had it at his service. This do — or cry 
for the nurse and mamma ; for what 
does it matter to what or whom you are 
subject, from what your welfare hangs ? 
Wherein are you better than one who 
bewails himself for his mistress, if you 
lament your exercises and porticoes and 
comrades, and all such pastime ? An- 
other comes, grieving because he shall 
no more drink of the water of Dirce. 
And is the Marcian water worse than 
that of Dirce ? 

u But I was used to the other." 

And to this also thou shalt be used ; 
and when you are so affected toward it, 
lament for it too, and try to make a verse 
like that of Euripides : 

The baths of Nero and the Marcian stream 

Behold how tragedies are made, when 

common chances happen to foolish men ! 

" But when shall I see Athens 




and the Acropolis again ? " 



149 



Wretched man ! does not that which 
you see every day satisfy you ? Have 
you anything better or greater to see 
than the sun, the moon, the stars, the 
common earth, the sea ? 

But if withal you mark the way of 
him that governs the whole, and bear 
him about within thee, will you still long 
for cut stones and a fine rock ? And 
when you come to leave the sun itself 
and the moon, what will you do ? Sit 
down and cry, like the children ? 

What, then, were you doing in the 
school ? What did you hear, what did 
you learn ? Why did you write yourself 
down a philosopher, when you might 
have written the truth, as thus : — I 
made certain beginnings, and read Chry- 
sippus, but did not so much as enter the 
door of a philosopher ? 

For how should you have anything in 
common with Socrates, who died as he 
died, who lived as he lived — or with 






I50 



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Diogenes ? Do you think that any of 


these men lamented or was indignant 


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because he should see such a man or 


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such a woman no more ? or because he 


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should not dwell in Athens or in Corinth, 


A) • rW^TPr °1j' 


but, as it might chance, in Susa or 




Ecbatana ? 




When a man can leave the banquet 


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or the game when he pleases, shall such 


.•3 






a one grieve if he remains ? Shall he 


' \5 






not, as in a game, stay only as long as 


.'■i 




be is entertained ? A man of this stamp 


^ffiTAVDJS^ 


would easily endure such a thing as per- 


9 






petual exile or sentence of death. 


^ 






Will you not now be weaned as chil- 


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dren are, and take more solid food, and 


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cry no more after your mother and nurse, 


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wailing like an old woman ? 


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" But if I quit them I shall grieve 


.•si 

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them." 


• -S 






Grieve them ? Never ; but that shall 


' ' avis 




grieve them which grieves you — Opin- 


ran 




ion. What have you, then, to do ? Cast 


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151 




away your own bad opinion ; and they, if 
they do well, will cast away theirs ; if 
not, they are the causes of their own 
lamenting. 

Man, be mad at last, as the saying is, 
for peace, for freedom, for magnanimity. 
Lift up your head, as one delivered from 
slavery. Dare to look up to God and 
say : Deal with me henceforth as thou 
wilt ; I am of one mind with thee ; I 
am thine. I reject nothing that seems 
good to thee ; lead me whithersoever 
thou wilt, clothe me in what dress thou 
wilt. Wilt thou have me govern or live 
privately, or stay at home, or go into 
exile, or be a poor man, or a rich ? For 
all these conditions I will be thy advocate 
with men — I show the nature of each 
of them, what it is. 

Nay, but sit in a corner and wait for 
your mother to feed you. 

Who would Heracles have been if he 
had sat at home ? He would have been 




152 




Eurystheus, and not Heracles. And 
how many companions and friends had 
he in his journeying about the world ? 
But nothing was dearer to him than God; 
and for this he was believed to be the 
son of God, yea, and was the son of 
God. And trusting in God, he went 
about purging away lawlessness and 
wrong. But you are no Heracles, and 
can not purge away evils not your own ? 
nor yet Theseus, who cleared Attica of 
evil things ? 

Then clear away your own. From 
your breast, from your mind cast out, 
instead of Procrustes and Sciron, grief, 
fear, covetousness, envy, malice, avarice, 
effeminacy, profligacy. And these things 
can not otherwise be cast out than by 
looking to God only, being affected only 
by him, and consecrated to his commands. 
But choosing anything else than this, 
you will follow with groaning and lamen- 
tation whatever is stronger than you, 



153 




154 




FACULTIES 

Remember at anything that shall be- 
fall you to turn to yourself and seek what 
faculty you have for making use of it. 
If you see a beautiful person, you will 
find a faculty for that — namely, self- 
mastery. If toil is laid upon you, you 
will find the faculty of Perseverance. If 
you are reviled, you will find Patience. 
And making this your wont, you shall 
not be carried away by the appearances. 




155 



XV. 



RETURNS 



Never in any case say, I have lost 
such a thing, but I have returned it. Is 
our child dead ? it is returned. Is your 
wife dead ? she is returned. Are you 
deprived of your estate ? is not this also 
returned ? 

" But he who deprives me of it 

is wicked ! " 

But what is that to you, through whom 
the Giver demands his own ? As long, 
therefore, as he grants it to you, steward 
it like another's property, as travellers 
use an inn. 



i 5 6 



XVI. 

THE PRICE OF TRANQUILLITY 

If you would advance in philosophy 
you must abandon such thoughts as, If I 
neglect my affairs I shall not have the 
means of living. If I do not correct my 
servant he will be good for nothing. For 
it is better to die of hunger, having lived 
without grief and fear, than to live with 
a troubled spirit amid abundance. And 
it is better to have a bad servant than an 
afflicted mind. 

Make a beginning, then, in small mat- 
ters. Is a little of your oil spilt, or a 
little wine stolen ? Then say to your- 
self, For so much peace is bought, this 
is the price of tranquillity. For nothing 
can be gained without paying for it. 
And when you call your servant, bethink 
you that he may not hear, or, hearing, 





157 




i 5 8 



XVII. 

A CHOICE 

If you would advance, be content to 
let people think you senseless and fool- 
ish as regards external things. Wish 
not ever to seem wise, and if ever you 
shall find yourself accounted to be some- 
body, then mistrust yourself. For know 
that it is not easy to make a choice that 
shall agree both with outward things 
and with Nature, but it must needs be 
that he who is careful of the one shall 
neglect the other. 



159 



XVIII. 

WHERE THE HEART IS THE BOND IS 

You are a fool if you desire wife and 
children and friends to live forever, for 
that is desiring things to be in your 
power which are not in your power, and 
things pertaining to others to be your 
own. So also you are a fool to desire 
that your servant should never do any- 
thing amiss, for that is desiring evil not 
to be evil, but something else. But if 
you desire never to fail in any pursuit, 
this you can do. This, therefore, prac- 
tise to attain — namely, the attainable. 

The lord of each of us is he that has 
power over the things that we desire or 
dislike, to give or to take them away. 
Whoever, then, will be free, let him 
neither desire nor shun any of the things 



1 60 



T 



that are in others' power; otherwise he 
must needs be enslaved. 

Wherefore Demetrius said to Nero, 
You threaten me with death, but Nature 
threatens you. 

If I am taken up with my poor body, 
or my property, I have given myself 
over to slavery ; for I immediately show 
of my own self with what I may be cap- 
tured. As when a snake draws in his 
head, I say, Strike at that part of him 
which he guards. And know that at 
the part you desire to guard, there your 
master will fall upon you. Remember- 
ing this, whom will you still flatter or 
fear ? 

Think that you should conduct your- 
self in life as at a feast. Is some dish 
brought to you ? Then put forth your 
hand and help yourself in seemly fashion. 
Does it pass you by ? Then hold it not 
back. Has it not yet come ? Then do 
not reach out for it at a distance, but 



161 




wait till it is at your hand. And thus 
doing with regard to children and wife 
and governments and wealth, you will be 
a worthy guest at the table of the Gods. 
And if you even pass over things that 
are offered to you, and refuse to take 
of them, then you will not only share 
the banquet, but also the dominion of 
the Gods. For so doing Diogenes and 
Heracleitus, and the like, both were, and 
were reported to be, rightly divine. 



162 



' 


^i^'V 


XIX. 

WE LAMENT NOT FROM WITHIN 

When you see one lamenting in grief 
because his son is gone abroad, or be- 
cause he has lost his goods, look to it 
that you be not carried away by the ap- 
pearance to think that he has truly fallen 
into misfortune, in outward things. But 
be the thought at hand, It is not the 
thing itself that afflicts this man — since 
there are others whom it afflicts not — 
but the opinion he has about it. And 
as far as speech is concerned, be not 
slow to fit yourself to his mood, and even 
if so it be to lament with him. But 
have a care that you lament not also 
from within. 


^•Ssl , : .c'.V / 







163 



XX. 

A MAN MAY ACT HIS PART BUT NOT 
CHOOSE IT 

Remember that you are an actor in a 
play, of such a part as it may please the 
director to assign you ; of a short part if 
he choose a short part; of a long one 
if he choose a long. And if he will 
have you take the part of a poor man or 
of a cripple, or a governor, or a private 
person, may you act that part with grace ! 
For it is yours to act well the allotted 
part, but to choose it is another's. 

Say no more then How will it be with 
me ? for however it be you will settle it 
well, and the issue shall be fortunate. 
What would Heracles have been had he 
said, How shall I contrive that a great 
lion may not appear to me, or a great 
boar, or a savage man ? And what have 



164 




you to do with that ? if a great boar 
appear, you will fight the greater fight ; 
if evil men, you will clear the earth of 
them. 

But if I die thus ? 

You will die a good man, in the ac- 
complishing of a noble deed. For since 
we must by all means die, a man cannot 
be found but he will be doing somewhat, 
either tilling or digging or trading or 
governing, or having an indigestion or a 
diarrhoea. What will you, then, that 
Death shall find you doing ? I, for my 
part, will choose some work, humane, 
beneficent, social, noble. But if I am 
not able to be found doing things of this 
greatness, then, at least, I will be doing 
that which none can hinder me from 
doing, that which is given to me to do 
— namely, correcting myself, bettering 
my faculty for making use of appear- 
ances, working out my peace, giving 
what is due in every obligation of life; 




165 



and if I prosper so far, then entering 
upon the third topic of philosophy, which 
concerns the security of judgments. 

If Death find me in the midst of these 
studies, it shall suffice me if I can lift 
up my hands to God and say, 

The means which thou gavest me for 
the perceiving of thy government, and for 
the following of the same, have I not 
neglected : as far as in me lies, I have 
not dishonoured thee. Behold how I 
have used my senses, and my natural 
conceptions. Have I ever blamed thee ? 
was I ever offended at aught that hap- 
pened, or did I desire it should happen 
otherwise ? Did I ever desire to trans- 
gress my obligations ? That thou didst 
beget me I thank thee for what thou 
gavest : I am content that I have used 
thy gifts so long. Take them again, and 
set them in what place thou wilt, for 
thine were all things, and thou gavest 
them me. 




i67 




DISTINCTIONS 

When a raven croaks a bad omen for 
you, be not carried away by the appear- 
ance ; but straightway distinguish with 
yourself and say, None of these things 
bodes aught to myself, but either to this 
poor body or this wretched property of 
mine, or to my good repute, or to my 
children, or to my wife. But to me all 
omens are fortunate, if I choose to have 
it so. For whatever of these things may 
come to pass, it lies with me to have it 
serve me. 

You may be always victorious if you 
will never enter into any contest but 
where the victory depends upon your- 
self. 

When you shall see a man honoured 
above others, or mighty in power, or 




1 68 







~<2*>\ ^JTC CAc^ 








otherwise esteemed, look to it that you 
deem him not blessed, being carried away 
by the appearance. For if the essence 
of the Good be in those things that are 
in our own power, then neither envy nor 
jealousy have any place, nor you yourself 
shall not desire to be commander or 
prince or consul, but to be free. And 
to this there is one road — scorn of 
the things that are not in our own 
power. 

Remember : not he that strikes or he 
that reviles does any man an injury, but 
the opinion about these things, that they 
are injurious. When, then, someone 
may provoke you to wrath, know that 
it is your own conception which has 
provoked you. Strive, therefore, at the 
outset not to be carried away by the 
appearance ; for if you once gain time 
and delay, you will more easily master 
yourself. 

Death and exile, and all things that 













169 




7o 



mm 



XXII. 

A MAN IS SUFFICIENT TO HIMSELF 

If you set your heart on philosophy, 
prepare straightway to be laughed at and 
mocked by many who will say, Behold, 
he has suddenly come back to us a 
philosopher; or, How came you by that 
brow of scorn ? 

But cherish no scorn ; hold to those 
things that seem to you the best, as one 
set by God in that place. Remember, 
too, that if you abide in that way, those 
that first mocked you, the same shall 
afterwards reverence you; but if you 
yield to them, you will receive double 
mockery. 

If it shall ever happen to you to be 
turned to outward things in the desire to 
please some person, know that you have 
lost your way of life. Let it be enough 



171 




172 



XXIII. 

EVERY MAN FULFIL HIS OWN TASK 

Let such thoughts never afflict you as, 
I shall live unhonoured, and never be 
anybody anywhere. 

For if lack of honour be an evil, you 
can no more fall into evil through an- 
other's doings than into vice. Is it, then, 
of your own doing to be made a gov- 
ernor, or invited to feasts ? By no 
means. How, then, is this to be un- 
honoured ? How should you never be 
anybody anywhere, whom it behoves to 
be somebody only in the things that are 
in your own power, wherein it lies with 
you to be of the greatest worth ? 

But I shall not be able to serve my 
friends. How say you ? to serve them ? 
They shall not have money from you, 




173 



ii 



OLIl 



nor will you make them Roman citizens. 
Who, then, told you that these were of 
the things that are in our power, and not 
alien to us ? And who can give that 
which he himself has not ? 

Acquire, then, they say, that we may 
possess. If I can acquire, and lose not 
piety, and faith, and magnanimity withal, 
show me the way, and I will do it. But 
if you will have me lose the good things 
I possess, that you may compass things 
that are not good at all, how unjust and 
unthinking are you ! But which will you 
rather have — money, or a faithful and 
pious friend ? Then, rather take part 
with me to this end ; and ask me not to 
do aught through which I must cast 
away those things. 

But, he says, I shall not do my part 
in serving my country. 

Again, what is this service ? Your 
country shall not have porticos nor baths 
from you, and what then ? Neither has 




174 




she shoes from the smith, nor arms from 
the cobbler ; but it is enough if every 
man fulfil his own task. And if you 
have made one other pious and faithful 
citizen for her, are you, then, of no 
service ? Wherefore, neither will you 
be useless to your country. 

What place, then, he says, can I hold 
in the State ? 

Whatever place you can, guarding 
still your faith and piety. But if in 
wishing to serve her you cast away these 
things, what will you profit her then, 
when perfected in shamelessness and 
faithlessness ? 




175 




XXIV. 

THE WORLD'S PRICE FOR THE WORLD'S 
WORTH 

Is some one preferred before you at a 
feast, or in salutation, or in being invited 
to give counsel ? Then, if these things 
are good, it behoves you rejoice that he 
has gained them ; but if evil, be not 
vexed that you have not gained them ; 
but remember that if you act not as 
other men to gain the things that are 
not in our own power, neither can you 
be held worthy of a like reward with 
them. 

For how is it possible for him who 
will not hang about other men's doors to 
have a like reward with him who so 
does ? or him who will not attend on 
them with him who does attend ? or him 




176 







who will not flatter them with the flat- 
terer ? You are unjust, then, and insa- 
tiable, if you desire to gain those things 
for nothing, without paying the price for 
which they are sold. 

But how much is a lettuce sold for ? 
A penny, perchance. If any one, then, 
will spend a penny, he shall have lettuce ; 
but you, not spending, shall not have. 
But think not you are worse off than he ; 
for as he has the lettuce, so you the 
penny which you would not give. 

And likewise in this matter. You are 
not invited to some man's feast ? That 
is, for you gave not to the host the 
price of the supper ; and it is sold for 
flattery, it is sold for attendance. Pay, 
then, the price, if it will profit you, for 
which the thing is sold. But if you will 
not give the price, and will have the 
thing, you are greedy and infatuated. 

Will you have nothing, then, instead 
of the supper ? You shall have this — 






ZTblj^Ei yJjj 



177 




not to have praised one whom you had 
no mind to praise, and not to have 
endured the insolence of his door- 
keepers. 




i 7 8 




AIMS OF NATURE 

The will of Nature is to be learned 
from matters that do not concern our- 
selves. Thus, when a boy breaks the 
cup of another man, we are ready to 
say, It is a common chance. 

Know, then, that when your own is 
broken, it behoves you to be as if it 
were another man's. And apply this 
even to greater things. Has another 
man's child died, or his wife ? who is 
there that will not say, It is the lot of 
humanity. But when his own dies, then 
straightway it is, Alas, wretched that I 
am ! 

But we should bethink ourselves what 




179 




i8o 




I8l 



T 



XXVII. 



A MAN SHOULD BE ONE MAN 



In every work you take in hand mark 
well what must go before and what must 
follow, and so proceed. For else you 
shall at first set out eagerly, as not 
regarding what is to follow; but in the 
end, if any difficulties have arisen, you 
will leave it off with shame. 

So you wish to conquer in the Olympic 
games ? And I, too, by the Gods ; and 
a fine thing it would be. But mark the 
prefaces and the consequences, and then 
set to work. You must go under dis- 
cipline, eat by rule, abstain from dainties, 
exercise yourself at the appointed hour, 
in heat or cold, whether you will or no, 
drink nothing cold, nor wine at will ; in 
a word, you must give yourself over to 
the trainer as to a physician. Then 




in the contest itself there is the digging 
race, and you are like enough to dislocate 
your wrist, or turn your ankle, to swal- 
low a great deal of dust, to be soundly 
drubbed, and after all these things to be 
defeated. 

If, having considered these things, 
you are still in the mind to enter for the 
contest, then do so. But without con- 
sideration you will turn from one thing 
to another like a child, who now plays 
the wrestler, now the gladiator, now 
sounds the trumpet, then declaims like 
an actor ; and so you, too, will be first an 
athlete, then a gladiator, then an orator, 
then a philosopher, and nothing with 
your whole soul ; but as an ape you 
will mimic everything you see, and be 
charmed with one thing after another. 
For you approached nothing with con- 
sideration or regularity, but rashly, and 
with a cold desire. 

And thus some men, having seen a 



183 




philosopher, and heard discourse like that 
of Euphrates (yet who indeed can say 
that any discourse is like his ?) desire 
that they also may become philosophers. 
But, O man ! consider first what it is 
you are about to do, and then inquire of 
your own nature whether you can carry 
it out. Will you be a pentathlos, or a 
wrestler ? Then, scan your arms and 
thighs; try your loins. For different 
men are made for different ends. 



Think 



be 



and 



you, you can De a sage, 
continue to eat and drink and be wrathful 
and take offence just as you were wont ? 
Nay, but you must watch and labour, 
and withdraw yourself from your house- 
hold, and be despised by any serving 
boy, and be ridiculed by your neighbours, 
and take the lower place everywhere, in 
honours, in authority, in courts of justice, 
in dealings of every kind. 

Consider these things — whether you 
are willing at such a price to gain peace, 




184 



freedom, and an untroubled spirit. And 
if not, then attempt it not, nor, like a 
child, play now the philosopher, then 
the tax-gatherer, then the orator, then 
the Procurator of Caesar. For these 
things agree not among themselves ; and, 
good or bad, it behoves you to be one 
man. You should be perfecting either 
your own ruling faculty, or your outward 
well-being; spending your art either on 
the life within or the life without ; that 
is to say, you must hold your place either 
among the sages or the vulgar. 



185 



AGAINST THE EPICUREANS AND ACA- 
DEMICS 

Beliefs that are sound and manifestly 
true are of necessity used even by those 
who deny them. And perhaps a man 
might adduce this as the greatest possi- 
ble proof of the manifest truth of 
anything, that those who deny it are 
compelled to make use of it. Thus, if 
a man should deny that there is any- 
thing universally true, it is clear that he 
is obliged to affirm the contrary, the 
negation — that there is nothing univer- 
sally true. Slave ! not even this — for 
what is this but to say that if there is 
anything universal it is falsehood ? 

Again, if one should come and say, 



1 86 



Know that nothing can be known, but 
all things are incapable of proof; or 
another, Believe me, and it shall profit 
you, that no man ought to believe any 
man ; or, again, another, Learn from 
me, O man, that it is not possible to 
learn anything, and I tell you this, and 
I will teach you if you will — now 
wherein do such men differ from those 
— whom shall I say ? — those who call 
themselves Academics ? Assent, O men, 
that no man can assent to aught ; believe 
us that no man can believe anyone. 

Thus Epicurus, when he would abol- 
ish the natural fellowship of men with 
one another, employs the very thing that 
is being abolished. For what says he ? 
Be not deceived, O men, or misguided 
or mistaken — there is no natural fel- 
lowship among reasoning beings, believe 
me ; and those who speak otherwise de- 
ceive us with sophisms. 

What is that to you ? let us be de- 



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ceived ! Will it be the worse for you if 
all other men are persuaded that we 
have a natural fellowship with one an- 
other, and that we should in all ways 
maintain it ? Nay — but much the 
better and safer. 

Man, why do you take thought for us, 
and watch at night for our sakes ? Why 
do you kindle your lamp and rise early ? 
why do you write so many books, lest 
any of us should be deceived about the 
Gods, in supposing that they cared for 
men ? or lest anyone should take the 
essence of the Good to be anything else 
than Pleasure ? For if these things are 
so, then lie down and sleep, and live the 
life of a worm, where for you have judged 
yourself fit ; eat and drink and cohabit 
and ease yourself and snore. 

What is it to you how other men 
think concerning these matters, whether 
soundly or unsoundly ? What have you 
to do with us ? With sheep have you 








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188 



some concern, because they serve us 
when they are shorn, and when they are 
milked, and at last when they have their 
throats cut. 

Were it not, then, to be desired, if 
men could be lulled and charmed to 
slumber by the Stoics, and give them- 
selves to you and the like of you, to be 
shorn and milked ? These things should 
you say to your brother Epicureans ; but 
should you not keep them hidden from 
other men, and seek in every way to per- 
suade them above all things that we are 
by nature social, and that temperance is 
good ; in order that everything may be 
kept for you ? Or should we preserve 
this fellowship with some and not with 
others ? With whom, then, should we 
preserve it ? With those who also pre- 
serve it toward us, or with those who 
transgress it ? And who transgress it 
more than you who set forth such doc- 
trines ? 




189 



What, then, was it that roused up 
Epicurus from his sleep, and compelled 
him to write the things he wrote ? 
What else than Nature, the mightiest of 
all powers in humanity ? Nature, that 
drags the man, reluctant and groaning, 
to her will. 

For, says she, since it seems to thee 
that there is no fellowship among men, 
write this down, and deliver it to others, 
and watch and wake for this, and be 
thyself by thine own deed the accuser of 
thine own opinions. 

Shall we, then, say that Orestes was 
driven by the Furies and aroused from 
sleep, and did not crueller Furies and 
Avengers rouse this man as he slum- 
bered, and suffered him not to rest, but 
compelled him, as madness and wine the 
priests of Kybele, to proclaim his own 
evils ? So mighty and invincible a thing 
is man's nature. 

For how can a vine be affected, and 









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190 



sa; 



not in the manner of a vine, but of an 
olive ? Or how, again, can an olive be 
affected not in the manner of an olive 
but of a vine ? It is impossible, it 
can not be conceived. Neither, then, is 
it possible for a man wholly to lose the 
affections of humanity, for even eunuchs 
can not cut away from themselves the 
desires of men. And thus Epicurus has 
cut away all that belongs to a man as 
father of a family, and as citizen, and 
as friend ; but the desires of humanity 
he has not cut away, for he could not j 
no more than these pitiful Academics 
are able to cast away or to blind their 
own perceptions, although this is the 
thing that they have striven with all 
their zeal to do. 

How shameful is this ! that a man 
having received from Nature measures 
and canons for the recognition of truth, 
should study not to add to them and 
perfect them where they are wanting, but 



191 



the very contrary of this; if there be 
anything that may lead us to the knowl- 
edge of the truth, they strive to abolish 
and destroy it. 

What say you, philosopher ? religion 
and holiness, what do you take them 
for? 

— ■ — " If you will, I shall prove that 
they are good." So be it ; prove it then, in 
order that our citizens may be converted 
and honour the Divinity, and be no longer 
neglectful of the greatest things. 

" Now have you received the 

proofs ? " 

I have, and am thankful therefor. 

" Now since you are exceedingly 

well pleased with these things, hear the 
contrary : There are no Gods, or if there 
be, they have no care for men, nor have 
we any communion with them ; and this 
religion and holiness, whereof the multi- 
tude babble, is the lying of impostors and 
sophists, or of legislators, by Zeus ! for 




192 




the frighting and restraining of evil- 
doers." 

Well said, philosopher ! the citizens 
shall have much profit of you 
have already brought back all our youths 
to the contempt of sacred things. 

" What now ? are these doctrines 

not pleasing to you ? Learn, then, that 
Righteousness is nothing, that Reverence 
is folly, that a father is nothing, a son 
nothing." 

Well said, philosopher ! proceed, per- 
suade the young, that we may multiply 
the number of those who believe and 
speak with you. From these teachings 
have grown our well-governed States, 
from these did Sparta spring, and these 
beliefs, by his laws and discipline, did 
Lycurgus plant among his people : — 
That slavery is no more base than 
honourable, nor to be free men more 
honourable than base. Through these 
opinions died those who fell at Ther- 



193 




mopylae, and through what others did the 
Athenians forsake their city ? 

Then those who speak such things 
marry, and beget children, and take part 
public affairs, and make themselves 
priests and augurs — of what ? Of 
beings that do not exist ! and they ques- 
tion the Pythian oracle that they may 
learn falsehoods; and they declare the 
oracles to others. O monstrous impu- 
dence and imposture ! 




194 




ON SLAVERY 

A certain man having inquired how 
one may make his meals in a manner 
pleasing to the Gods, If he do it up- 
rightly, said Epictetus, and considerately, 
and equably, and temperately, and orderly, 
shall it not also be thus pleasing to the 
Gods ? But when you ask for hot water, 
and the boy does not hear, or, hearing, 
brings it only luke-warm ; or if he is not 
even to be found in the house, then is it 
not pleasing to the Gods if you refrain 
from indignation, and do not burst with 
passion ? How shall one endure such 
fellows ? 

Wretch, will you not bear with your 
own brother, who is of the progeny of 
Zeus, like a son sprung of the same seed 




195 



as yourself, and of the same heavenly 
descent, but you must straightway make 
yourself a tyrant, for the place of com- 
mand in which you are set ? Will you 
not remember who you are, and whom 
you ruled — that they are kinsmen, 
brethren by nature, the progeny of Zeus ? 

But I have bought them, and they have 
not bought me ! 

See you, then, whither you are looking 
— toward the earth, toward the pit of 
perdition, toward these miserable laws 
of dead men ? but toward the laws of 
the Gods you look not. 

That which you would not suffer your- 
self, seek not to lay upon others. You 
would not be a slave — look to it, that 
others be not slaves to you. For if you 
endure to have slaves, it seems that 
you yourself are first of all a slave. For 
virtue has no communion with vice nor 
freedom with slavery. 

As one who is in health would not 



196 




197 




TO THE ADMINISTRATOR OF THE FREE 
CITIES, WHO WAS AN EPICUREAN 

The Administrator having visited him 
(and this man was an Epicurean), It is 
proper, said Epictetus, that ignorant 
people like us should inquire of you that 
are philosophers (as men who come into 
a strange city make inquiry of the citizens 
and those familiar with the place) what 
is the chief thing in the world, to the 
end that, having learned it, we may go 
in search of it, and behold it, as men do 
with objects in the cities. 

Now, that there are three things with 
which man is concerned — soul, and 
body, and the outer world — scarce any 
one will deny. It remains, then, for 




198 



men like you to answer which is the chief 
of these things ? What shall we declare 
to men ? Is it the flesh ? And was it 
for this that Maximus sent forth his son, 
and sailed with him through the tempest 
as far as Cassiope, for somewhat that he 
should feel in the flesh ? 

But the Epicurean denying this, and 
saying, God forbid, Epictetus said : 

Is it not fit, then, that we should be 
zealous about that, the chief thing ? 

" Of all things most fit." 

What, then, have we greater than the 
flesh ? 

" The soul," he said. 

And the good of the chief thing, is it 
greater than the good of the lower 
thing ? 

" The good of the chief thing is 

greater." 

And the good things of the soul, are 
they in the power of the Will, or beyond 
the Will ? 



VflSSnhnrFfil 



199 









" They are in the power of the 

Will." 

The pleasure of the soul, then, is 
within the power of the Will ? 

He assented. 

And this pleasure itself, whence may 
it arise? From itself? But this is incon- 
ceivable ; for we must suppose some 
original substance of the Good, whereof 
the soul doth make us sensible when we 
light upon it. 

This, too, he admitted. 

Wherein, then, are we sensible of 
this spiritual pleasure ? for if it be in 
spiritual things, the nature of the Good 
is discovered. For the Good can not be 
something different from the thing that 
justly delights us ; nor, if the original 
thing be not good, can anything be good 
that proceeds from it ; for, in order that 
the thing proceeding may be good, the 
original thing must be good also. But 
this you would never say, if you had 







200 



your wits, for so you would speak things 
that agree not with Epicurus and the 
rest of your opinions. It remains, then, 
that we are conscious in bodily things of 
this pleasure of the soul, and again, that 
these are the original things and the very 
substance of the Good. 

Wherefore Maximus did foolishly if 
he made his voyage for the sake of any- 
thing else than the flesh ; that is, than 
the chief thing. And any man does 
foolishly who restrains himself from 
others' good, if he be a judge, and able 
to take them. 

But, if you please, let us regard this 
only, how it may be done secretly and 
safely, and so that none may know it. 
For neither does Epicurus himself declare 
stealing to be bad, but only to be caught 
stealing; and because it is impossible to 
be certain of no discovery, therefore he 
says, You shall not steal. 

But I say that if we steal with skill 






s 



201 




and discretion, we shall not be caught. 
And, moreover, if we have powerful 
friends among men and women at 
Rome, and the Greeks are feeble, no 
one will dare go thither on this score. 
Why do you refrain from your own 
good ? This is foolish — this is absurd. 
But not even if you tell me you do re- 
frain will I believe you. For, as it is 
impossible to assent to anything that 
appears to be a falsehood, or to turn 
away from what appears to be true, 
even so it is impossible to withhold one- 
self from anything that appears to be 
good. But riches are a good, and, at all 
events, the most potent means of pleas- 
ure. Wherefore, then, not compass 
them ? And why not corrupt our neigh- 
bour's wife, if we may do it secretly ? 
and also, if the husband talk nonsense 
about it, let us fling him out ! If you 
will be a true and perfect philosopher, 
and obedient to your own doctrines, thus 



N\ 



202 



must you do ; but if you do not, you 
differ no whit from us that are called 
Stoics. For truly we ourselves say one 
thing and do another ; we speak fair 
and honest things, and do vile ones. 
But the opposite distemper will be yours 
— a vile creed and honourable deeds. 

And you think, God help you ! of a 
city of Epicureans ? I do not marry. 
Nor I ; for it is not right to marry, nor 
beget children, nor take part in public 
affairs. 

What will come to pass then ? 
Whence shall we have citizens ? who 
shall educate them ? who shall be the 
overseer of youth ? who the director of 
gymnastics ? and how shall the youth 
be trained up ? as the Lacedaemonians ? 
or as the Athenians ? 

Take me a youth, and bring him up 
after these doctrines of yours ! Evils are 
they, subversive of States, mischievous 
to households, unbecoming to women. 




203 



Abandon them, man ! You dwell in a 
chief city ; it is your part to rule, to 
judge righteously, to refrain from other 
men's goods ; nor must any woman 
seem beautiful to you save your own 
wife, nor vessel of gold or silver. Seek 
for doctrines in harmony with these 
words, from which setting out you may 
with gladness abandon things so potent 
to attract and overcome. But if beside 
the seduction of these things we have 
sought out some philosophy like this 
that pushes us toward them, and con- 
firms us in them, what shall come of 
it? 

In the graver's work, which is the 
chief thing ? the silver or the art ? 
The substance of the hand is flesh, but 
the main things are the works of the hand. 
The obligations, therefore, are also three 
— those that concern us, first, in that 
we are ; and second, as we are ; and 
third, the main things themselves. 



204 




And thus in man, too, it is not meet 
to value the material, this flesh, but the 
main things. What are these ? To 
take part in public affairs, to marry, 
to beget children, to fear God, to care 
for parents, and, in general, to pursue, to 
avoid, to desire, to dislike, as each of 
these things should be done, as Nature 
made us to do. And how made she 
us ? To be free, generous, pious. For 
what other creature blushes ? what other 
is capable of the sense of shame ? 

And to these things let Pleasure be 
subject as a minister, a servant, that she 
may summon forth our ardour, and that 
she also may aid in works that are ac- 
cording to Nature. 

" But I am a wealthy man, and 

have no need of aught." 

Why, then, do you profess philos- 
ophy ? Your vessels of gold and ves- 
sels of silver are enough for you ; what 
need have you of doctrines ? 




205 



" But I am also a judge of the 

Greeks ! " 

Do you know how to judge — who 
made you to know ? 

" Caesar wrote me a commis- 
sion." 

Let him write you a commission to be 
a judge of music, and what help will 
it be to you ? And how did you become 
a judge ? by kissing of what man's hand ? 
Was it that of Symphorus or Nume- 
nius ? Before whose bed-chamber did 
you sleep ? To whom did you send 
gifts ? Do you not perceive, then, that 
to be a judge is worth just as much as 
Numenius is worth ? 

" But I can cast into prison 

whom I will." 

As if he were a stone. 

" But I can flog any man I 

will." 

As if he were an ass. This is no 
government of men. Rule us as reason- 




ing beings ; show us what is for our 
good, and we shall follow it ; show us 
what is for our ill, and we shall turn 
away from it ; make us emulators of 
yourself, as Socrates made his disciples. 
He, indeed, was one that governed men 
as men, who made them subject unto 
him in their pursuit and their avoidance, 
their desire and dislike. Do this, do not 
this, or I will cast you into prison. This 
is not the rule of reasoning beings. But, 
As Zeus has ordered, so act ; but if you 
do not, you shall suffer loss and hurt. 
What hurt ? None other than this — 
not to have done what it behoved you to 
do. You shall lose faith, piety, decency 
— look for no greater injuries than 
these. 

THE END 



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